


Long shot

by ylc



Series: Of true love and other myths [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, First Time, Insecure!Sherlock, John is human, M/M, Mpreg, Or my version of smut at least, Self Confidence Issues, Sherlock is a werewollf, Some slurs, Werewolves, a bit of angst, barely there really, bit of smut, nothing graphic though, some more angst, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 44,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The point of a marriage between heirs is to cement alliances.<br/>But in Sherlock's case... it represents the chance of a better (happier) future.<br/>It's a long shot, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this… ever since I wrote the “Pointless” series, I’ve been struck with inspiration to write more A/B/O fics and well… I’m not sure if this counts really, but it sorta is so…  
> Anyway, I have a couple of fics still in progress, but I really wanted to write this and well… here we are. Arranged marriage is also a bit of weakness of mine, so I really couldn't let the inspiration pass ;)  
> So, without further ado, enjoy?

The room they’re in is big and heavily adorned, several banners hanging from the ceiling, along with elegant chandeliers. The heavy curtains cover the ample windows, not allowing much light in, giving the place a sense ominousness.

Sherlock isn’t one bit impressed.

He’s terribly nervous, though. His future hangs on how this meeting goes, but either way, he knows it won’t be pleasant. How naive of him, to think he would be allowed to live as he wanted, alone and unbothered by the demands of his blood.

After he had managed to chase off his last suitor, effectively managing to scare off every single heir from all the nearby clans, he had foolishly believed his parents would let the matter drop. He ought to have known better, really, he ought to have known that even if his parents felt inclined to leave him alone, the Council of Elders wouldn’t be as forgiving.

But to marry him off to a _human-_ that seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?

Still, it makes sense, doesn’t it? No heir from another clan will have him now and the human kingdom has been their ally for a long while, having reached a truce on the matter of what territory belongs to whom. A marriage then would only help to cement such alliance and Sherlock is the perfect candidate for such union.

He must admit he’s a little excited at the prospect of living with humans, though. The Elders have always frown upon his curiosity about their humans allies, since they’ve always rewarded them as an inferior and weaker race. They’re not without usefulness, of course, otherwise they would have attempted to get rid of them sooner, but they’re not welcome in their territory and friendships or any other sort of relationships really, are not encouraged.

Sherlock, however, finds them endlessly fascinating. It’s true that they’re much weaker, their lives are short and they’re prone to sickness, but they’re much more curious than werewolves, often making interesting discoveries in a desperate attempt to improve their lives.

Electricity for example, Sherlock thinks, as he watches fascinated as the lights from the chandeliers are turned on. He’s not sure if it’s cheaper or more practical than candles, but it’s certainly an interesting discovery.

His attention gets dragged back to the people at the end of the room. He recognizes the King from several paintings in history books, along with the Queen. A boy and a girl stand next to them, although maybe such term is unfair, since they both seem to be in their late teens. Still, they both seem much too young for Sherlock and he honestly hopes he’s not expected to marry either of them.

As the elders speak, his attention drifts around the room once more. He never learned the human language, not because he didn’t want to, but because his parents never allowed him to. Which makes this whole marriage thing even more ridiculous; how is he supposed to speak to his fiancé when he’s incapable of speaking their language?

But then, that’s probably part of the plan. If Sherlock can’t communicate, it’ll be less likely he’ll manage to scare off his suitor. He frowns, wondering if it’ll be worth the hassle to try it anyway. Mummy will be most displeased, no doubt, but maybe-

He catches Mycroft’s eye and he sighs, deciding that no, he really doesn’t want to risk it. He knows his brother has tried to shield him from the worst of the Council’s wrath, but everything has a limit. And seeing his brother’s own marriage might be at stake if Sherlock continues to escape an engagement… well. Better not risk it.

His attention goes back to the King’s children.

He’s not sure how human politics work, so he has no idea who would be the most logical choice for a marriage of convenience. For werewolves clans, younger children marry older heirs, for the only point is to strengthen bonds between allies and not to have other clans having claim over the leadership of a pack. Humans might work the same way, but-

The teenagers look around the same age, though. Both have blond hair and baby blue eyes and in fact look almost identical. Twins, he thinks. He frowns, uncertain of what that might mean for him.

His father’s voice raises and Sherlock turns to look at him, half terrified and half hopeful. His father rarely angers, but when he does, he’s a force to be reckoned with. He doesn’t look angry right now, just- frustrated?

Mycroft speaks up then and Sherlock holds back a pout, being reminded that his brother was allowed to learn the human language despite him not actually wanting to, while Sherlock had been denied that chance. He spares a glance in the human’s direction and notices the tension on the King’s shoulders. The Queen looks mostly confused and the Princess looks relieved. His eyes land on the Prince, who’s watching him with curiosity now and Sherlock frowns once more.

He catches one single word from his brother’s speech, but that’s enough for him to figure out what’s going on. _Omega._

Ah, so the Princess was his intended. But now that Mycroft has (presumably) explained that Sherlock is a carrier, not an impregnator, that might change the monarch's plan. He had forgotten that human females can only carry children, for there are not Alphas among them. Men impregnate, Women have children and then-

Well. He’s glad he’s not really following this conversation. He has the feeling it has turned incredibly awkward.

His father speaks once more and the King nods along whatever he’s saying. The Prince is staring at Sherlock, half curious and half worried. Sherlock finds himself wanting to reassure the other male, but he’s uncertain of how to.

Funny, that. He tends to try to increase people's nervousness, not try to soothe them.

The elders seem to have reached an agreement, for his parents are saying their farewells. Sherlock vows, as he’s supposed to and turns to follow his parents, but Mycroft places a hand on his shoulder, halting him. The King is saying something and Mycroft replies in kind, before the King nods, apparently satisfied and he too stands up, leaving the room along with his family except for the Prince.

Oh. Really? Did they miss that Sherlock can’t speak human?

“That’s why I’m here, little brother,” Mycroft tells him, a sad smile on his lips. “I’ll serve as your interpreter.”

As if things could get any worse.

* * *

 

Sherlock isn’t terribly interested on having a conversation with his brother present, even if he understands the reasoning behind it. Still, it feels far too awkward and in any case, it’s probably better to let Mycroft handle things. The gods know that Sherlock speaking usually brings nothing but trouble.

Besides, he has no way of knowing if his brother will actually communicate what he wants to say, so he doesn’t see the need to bother.

Mycroft seems frustrated with his lack of participation, but he does carry on conversing with the human Prince easily. The human speaks in soft tones; polite, but curious. Sherlock observes him with mild interest, finding him quite pleasant on the eye and deducing his military career in his stance and way of moving.

It could be worse, Sherlock supposes.

The Prince seems nice enough and eager to please, even if Sherlock can tell he has a slightly _darker_ side. Short tempered, always up for a fight and sarcastic, although the last one is difficult to assess correctly without understanding a word he’s saying. Mycroft however seems to find him entertaining and probably even interesting, considering the amount of time he spends talking to him.

Sherlock isn’t sure how to feel about that.

Finally, after the sun has set, the Prince says his farewells, vowing a bit awkwardly, signaling manners aren’t really his forte and offering Sherlock one last, lingering look before smiling gently.

It unsettles him more than he’s willing to admit, particularly when he finds himself smiling back.

Most odd, really.

He wonders if that’s a bad or a good thing.

* * *

 

“So, what did you think of your fiancé?” Mycroft asks as they make their way back to their home. Sherlock remains quiet for a while, contemplating his answer, before shrugging carelessly.

“He seems… pleasant enough. If nothing else, he’ll actually leave me alone when I ask.” His brother frowns briefly at that, but then nods. Sherlock smiles a bit self deprecatingly. “It could be worse, I guess.”

“Technically, Princess Harriet is the heir to the throne, but since she seems a bit… reluctant to take her duties seriously, it's very likely Prince John will end up being the monarch,” Mycroft says, almost off handedly, but Sherlock can hear a bit of worry in his tone. “Either way, you’ll behave, won’t you?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically. “Don’t worry, brother dear. You won’t have to face a war on my account.”

Mycroft nods. “You should probably start learning the human language. It won’t do that you’re unable to communicate.”

“It’s not like it matters,” the younger male argues with a shrug. “You know how others react to me: he won’t want to talk to me either way.”

Mycroft frowns once more, looking troubled. “I don’t know about that. I think you should make an effort, anyway. You’re going to go to spend the rest of your life with humans, it’ll be for the best if you learnt their language.” He stops, turning to stare at him in the face, “you’ve always wanted to learn, anyway.”

Sherlock nods, conceding the point. Still, a part of him doesn’t find the idea particularly thrilling. It’s one thing having the whole clan disliking him, it’s entirely another one to have his husband, the man he’s going to share his whole life with, disliking him.

“It’ll be fine, Sherlock,” his brother assures him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing softly. “I think you and Prince John might actually get along, if you give him the chance.”

Doubtful, but he’s not in the mood for arguing. “The Elders might not want me to learn the language too soon, though. I might still manage to undo the engagement if I start actually _talking_ to my fiancé.”

Mycroft’s smile is sad and Sherlock looks away, incapable of handling his pity. He hadn’t wanted to marry, so he had been purposely nasty towards all those other heirs. Still, it stung a bit that so many had _disapproved_ of him.

He has a rash personality and he can be too blunt. He’s probably too smart for his own good and he has never learned to keep things to himself. He’s terribly curious too and he constantly over thinks things, but surely- surely he’s not completely unlovable?

Experience, so far, has proven him he is. And it hurts, even if he pretends it doesn’t.

Maybe this marriage is for the best. Maybe not learning the human language would be the best he could do. His future husband can’t dislike him if he doesn’t understand him and going just by his looks… well, Sherlock thinks he’s attractive enough to make up for the lack of conversation.

It’ll work.

He hopes.

* * *

 

His next visit to the human Castle takes less than a week, for it seems his parents are in a rush to marry him off. He understands their reasons and he understands that the Council is probably pressuring them and he understands that he brought this upon himself but-

It still stings a bit. He’s their youngest son, shouldn’t they be a little more… reluctant to let him go? He’s going to go to live in a completely different place, not understanding the language or the customs, shouldn’t they be a tiny bit concerned?

Evidently not.

The visit seems to go well, the King talking animatedly with his parents, the Queen nodding along whatever her husband says. The Prince and Princess are nowhere to be seen and Sherlock finds himself feeling strangely disappointed.

It’s the loneliness, he thinks. Prince John represents a chance of not being so damn lonely anymore, but it’s a rather long shot, so he really shouldn’t get his hopes up. Still-

Just then, the door opens and the Prince walks in. He looks a bit flushed, signaling he ran towards here and he looks a bit out of breath. The sight does something to Sherlock’s insides, although he’s not completely certain of what.

The King turns to his son with a frown, but the Prince says something very quickly and it seems to startle everyone in the room, but the Queen. The woman smiles gently and says something to her husband in hushed tones, which makes the male nod. He turns then back to Sherlock’s parents and asks something.

His father turns to Mycroft and his brother nods, grabbing Sherlock by the arm and pulling him along. Prince John beams at him and then turns around, gesturing for them to follow. Sherlock frowns, more than a little confused and turns to look at his brother, who looks as confused as himself but somewhat... hopeful?

The Prince leads them across the Castle, until they arrive to a rather solitary wing. There, he opens one of the doors and invites them in, which makes Sherlock feel a tad apprehensive, but he walks inside willingly, figuring he has nothing to fear.

What’s waiting for him inside makes his heart skip a beat. He hesitates, unsure if he’s allowed to come anywhere near the table, but the Prince smiles at him once more and nods enthusiastically. Sherlock takes a few cautious steps, still half expecting to be stopped and finally comes to stand in front of the table, where a wide arrange of curious equipment awaits.

He recognizes most of the material, although he’s unsure of its use. He has seen a few books on science, but since they were written in the human language, he couldn’t quite read them. Still, he can’t help his wide smile at the prospect of finally being able to satisfy his curiosity about this particular human facet.

He turns to smile at his future husband and he finds him smiling brightly back. For a second time, Sherlock’s heart skips a beat and he looks down, slightly sheepish, unsure of how to react.

It seems… too good to be true, to be perfectly honest. The marriage is imminent, there's no need for the Prince to “woo" him.

And yet-

He bites his lip, still unsure, but hopeful. It might come to nothing and once they get around to actually talking, the Prince might come to hate him but maybe- maybe-

Well, if nothing else, he seems willing enough to tolerate his eccentricities.

He turns to look at his fiance, who is talking to his brother now. Mycroft looks thoughtful, but the corner of his lip is lifted upward and Sherlock can’t help smiling, thinking that's a good sign.

It's still a long shot, but maybe he’ll actually be happy here. Maybe- maybe his marriage will turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

The Prince looks at him and offers him a gentle, almost loving smile.

Well, who knows? He might even fall in love.

He suspects he’s halfway there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? I rather like this and I think it works well as a one shot, don't you think? It has a nice, hopeful ending (or beginning?)  
> I don't know if I’ll continue it, but if I do, it'll probably end up containing a bunch of angst (if you’ve read any of my previous fics you know how I enjoy an angsty story) so… I don't know.  
> Anyway, let me know what you thought?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a horrible liar. I kept telling myself that I would get back to this fic as soon as I finished “Healing wounds”, since that one is only missing an epilogue. But, being the horrible liar I am, I decided to write a bit of this, “just to get it out of my system”, with no intention of finishing another chapter and yet- Well.  
> The change of rating comes from the end of this chapter. I can’t write smut to save my life, but I periodically make the effort to try it. I’m somewhat happy with how it turned out, although it was a bit more racy when I was writing it in my head but when I got down to actually writing it… well. Years of prudish upbringing might never vanish, but I try!  
> Enjoy?

There’s a full moon on the night before the wedding and Sherlock spends the time on his own, hiding at the top of one particularly rocky hill.

It’s a bit of a tradition for the pack to run together on the nights of full moon, which is why the particular myth that they only turn during the full moon began. Nowadays all other races know better and yet, the tradition remains: it has some religious significance that Sherlock has long forgotten, having always found religion a tedious concept.

From his hiding place, he can see his parents leading the pack during the run. His mother’s light fur shines brightly under the moonlight, a sharp contrast with his father’s pitch black fur. They make quite a striking couple and Sherlock finds himself thinking about his future husband once more.

Werewolves are, above all, practical creatures. They’re not prone to romantic notions, unlike the rest of the races. Although they’re monogamous by nature, mating for life, it has nothing to do with  _ sentiment.  _ Marriage is a matter of convenience, a way to ensure peace between clans and pack members and the continuity of the line. They lack great love stories and in fact find such ideas completely distasteful.

Sherlock never believed himself a romantic, but now he’s wondering if he was always hoping to find his… how do humans call it? Ah, yes.  _ Soulmate. _

It’s a laughable notion, to be honest and yet it certainly feels like that. He hasn’t  understood a word Prince John has told him so far and yet, he must admit he’s completely enamored with the man. He’s  _ aching  _ to get to know him better, he can barely wait for the wedding to take place and their new life together begin. It’s ridiculous, sentimental and foolish and yet-

He’s been so lonely all his life. His parents were always distant and Mycroft was always busy, although his brother certainly tried to keep an eye on him. It’s very odd for couples to have as few children as his parents did, but he thinks that even if he had dozens of siblings, he would have been lonely.

He’s too different, too- weird. Other children never wanted to play with him and he quickly developed a wicked tongue that kept others at bay. If no one got too close, no one could hurt him.

But with his fiancé-

He knows he ought to be more careful. He’s putting too much hope on this working, for all he knows the Prince might turn to hate him. He ought to be more wary, he ought to keep his heart protected but something- something about the human makes him-

He turns his head upwards, staring directly at the moon for the longest time. The cold wind feels wonderfully against his fur, making him feel lighter. He doesn’t mind being alone, no, but there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely and it’s the later what he can’t stand. He thinks that after tomorrow he’ll be alone, in a strange place, with strange people and yet- yet-

It’ll be better. It has to. It simply can not be otherwise.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s worse.

* * *

 

“Nervous?” his brother asks him gently as he helps him dress for the wedding. Sherlock doesn’t answer right away, examining his reflection on the mirror, admiring the way the surface reflects him much more clearly than water ever could. Another funny human invention, although he thinks this one is really useless.

“Not really,” he replies with a small shrug. “Maybe- maybe I’m being too optimistic?”

Mycroft sighs, offering him a smile. “To be honest, I don’t know. I do believe- I get the impression Prince John will be good for you, but- well.” He pats his shoulder awkwardly, uncertain and that’s such an odd look on his brother that Sherlock can’t help to feel a bit more nervous at that. “You need to learn the language, though.”

Sherlock nods, knowing he’s right. He wishes he could have begun his lessons before all this, but there was so very little time between the first meeting and the actual wedding, not to mention the Council of Elders pretty much forbade it, still fearful he’d manage to escape the engagement once more. These first few months will be tricky, with no one to act as his interpreter and him left on his own to learn the language and the customs. He’s a quick learner though and he’s determined to do his best.

“You’ll- you’ll stay for the celebration?” he says, playing with the buttons of his waistcoat. His brother slaps his hands away and he bites his lip.

“Yes,” Mycroft replies calmly. “Mummy and father too, but we’ll have to leave before the sun sets. Father doesn’t want to spend the night at the human’s territory.”

Sherlock makes a face, but doesn’t comment. Father doesn’t want to spend a night at the human’s territory, but he’s perfectly fine with having his younger son marry a human. It figures.

“You know how he is,” Mycroft murmurs softly, placating. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock nods, a bit upset, but not terribly so. He must admit he’s not quite as reluctant to marry anymore and he hopes- he hopes it’ll be fine. “Alright. Into the battle, then,” he jokes, trying to smile and his brother nods, patting his shoulder once more.

He needs to remember that he’s heading towards a new life. Hopefully, a much happier one.

It can’t be any worse than his current one, can it?

* * *

 

The human wedding ceremony is a curious affair, Sherlock thinks. Werewolves’ unions merely get blessed by the oldest member of the Council and then the couple leaves to be on their own and mate for the first time. Humans, however, seem to enjoy long  _ boring  _ ceremonies, followed by noisy celebrations.

His husband seems to be enjoying himself though, joking with everyone that comes his way. He even accepts a couple of offers to dance and Sherlock can see the King frowning, but he doesn’t understand why. He thinks it has something to do with it being improper seeing the Prince is married now and dancing seems to be some sort of courtship ritual, but Sherlock hardly sees the significance.

He sits next to his parents during the whole ordeal, growing more nervous at the prospect of being left alone with each passing minute, but managing to look perfectly unperturbed. Finally his father announces it’s time to leave and he and mummy go to say their farewells and Sherlock receives one last brief pat on the shoulder by his brother, before he’s left on his own.

His eyes go to the dance floor, where John is now dancing with the Princess. The Queen gestures for him to come closer and so he goes to sit next to her, feeling entirely too awkward. The woman smiles at him gently and promptly turns her attention elsewhere, leaving him with his thoughts.

After what feels like a lifetime, his now husband comes to him and pulls him onto his feet. Sherlock follows him willingly, feeling at odds, but comforted by the feeling of John’s hand in his. The Prince takes him to the dance floor and as a new song begins, he pulls him into his arms and starts moving smoothly.

It’s- odd, to say at least. He gets the hang of the dance quick enough, so he manages not to step onto his partner’s feet, but he can’t completely relax. He’s all too aware of the other male’s body closely pressed to his and every point of contact between their bodies is tingling curiously. He feels warmer too and that can’t be normal, can it?

But he can’t quite express what he’s feeling and so he stays quiet, hoping it’ll pass. In any case, it’s not unpleasant, it’s simply… new.

The song ends and people around them clap. That seems to signal something, but Sherlock doesn’t know what and he spares a second to be angry at his parents for leaving him so woefully unprepared for what might come. He knows next to nothing about humans’ customs and he doesn’t know what to expect now.

His husband wraps an arm around his waist, gentle but firm. He guides him out of the ballroom, waving goodbyes left and right. Sherlock follows, his skin still strangely warm and his pulse accelerated.

They walk through the deserted halls, John’s arm still around him. His husband smiles, saying something that he thinks it’s meant to be reassuring but he can't tell for sure. He curses inwardly, upset by his ignorance and looks down, a soft blush covering his cheeks.

Finally, they arrive to a room and the Prince opens the door, gesturing for him to walk in first. Sherlock hesitates for a beat, but quickly resolves to behave bravely, hoping for the best and steps in.

The room is big and heavily decorated, which seems to be the humans’ preference in terms of decoration. Sherlock scrunches his nose, thinking he likes the much more minimalistic style back home, but all thoughts quickly abandon him when he turns around and finds his husband shedding his clothes.

Oh. So this is it. Well. That’s- that’s fine, of course, that’s to be expected. That’s what comes after marriage, nothing to be… afraid of.

And yet, he’s terrified. He bites his lip, still watching the other male undress, his body feeling warmer now. He looks away, hesitating, wondering if he could get away with trying to run.

But no- that’s not how it works. Sex is part of any marriage, without sex this particular union lacks any validity in the eyes of the clan. And besides, sex is what eventually will give him pups and he…he wants to give his husband pups, what kind of partner he would be if he didn’t? Except- except he’s not entirely certain-

Damn it. He should have researched this sooner. Omegas are expected to know  _ nothing  _ of this, Alphas are supposed to take care of everything, but John isn’t an Alpha, he’s human and maybe- maybe-

He realizes he’s breathing hard and promptly forces himself to take one long breath and close his eyes. He can do this. This is just nervousness, it being his first time, it’s to be expected. But well… while werewolves only have one sexual partner in their whole lives, he knows humans are different on that aspect and so he must admit that that’s making him a tad more anxious. He’s not sure what his husband is expecting from him and he fears to fall short.

It would be a certain way to doom his marriage, wouldn’t it?

The Prince is standing in front of him now, staring at him worriedly. Sherlock gulps and looks away, trying to keep himself from shivering. He’s nervous and a tiny bit scared, but-

His thoughts get interrupted as his husband places a hand against his cheek. The contact is tentative, soft and not demanding at all. He looks up, meeting his partner’s eyes and John offers him a gentle smile that helps to ease his anxiety a little.

His husband presses a kiss against his lips chastely, barely a brush of lips really, not much different from the one they shared at the altar. Still, Sherlock can feel his lips tingling at the contact and has to fight back a needy moan. He wants to pull the other male close and devour his mouth, but he’s still- he still doesn’t know-

John says something that of course he doesn’t understand, but by the soothing tone, he guesses he’s being reassured. He smiles tentatively, uncertain, but willing.

The next kiss is a bit more passionate, but not overwhelming. For the longest time, his husband lets him set the pace of their kisses, always considerate of his nervousness and making soft approving sounds, making him feel slightly more self assured.

Finally, John starts pushing him towards the bed, undoing the buttons of this waistcoat and shirt, discarding both items carelessly. Sherlock’s breathing is labored, his heart beating furiously, but feeling much more confident than when they began.

His husband runs his hands along the planes of his chest and his sides, observing and categorizing. Sherlock blushes a bit under the scrutiny and tentatively reaches out to make some explorations of his own. His husband smiles at him and kisses him once more, assuring him that his touch is welcomed.

They continue their slow exploration of skin, in no particular rush for completion. His whole body feels entirely too warm, his blood seems to be burning and yet, he can’t bring himself to care one bit.

By the time his husband finally divests him of his pants and undergarments, all traces of his initial nervousness are gone. John’s hands are gentle, careful with him and his eyes trace his body half curious, half aroused.

There’s a bit of fumbling afterwards, which suggests John isn’t entirely certain of what to do now. This part, however, Sherlock does know. He sits up and after kissing his partner one last time, he turns onto his front, pushing his hips upwards, ready to be taken.

Still, the Prince seems to hesitate, a hand loosely placed on Sherlock’s hip, the other caressing the side of his tight. Sherlock makes a wondering noise, well aware that they can’t quite communicate, but hoping to convey his confusion. The sudden feeling on a finger circling his entrance surprises him a bit, but when the finger slides in, he can’t help the moan that leaves his lips. Encouraged by this, his husband adds another finger shortly after and while Sherlock knows stretching him is completely unnecessary, he must admit he’s enjoying the attention and so he doesn’t try to protest.

After what feels like a lifetime, but can’t be more than a couple of minutes at most, he finally feels his husband getting in position behind him, both hands now on his hip bones and tracing soothing circles over them.

It’s not exactly painful, but it isn’t exactly pleasurable either. They keep their position for a while, both adjusting and then John makes one small, almost abortive move and Sherlock pushes his hips a little more upwards, hoping the new angle will make things a bit more enjoyable.

It seems to help, to an extent. He realizes he’s tense once more and that’s probably interfering with his pleasure, but his husband is back to whispering nonsense (well, maybe not nonsense) against his ear, his whole front pressed against his back and that’s- that’s strangely comforting.

The next few seconds are still a bit awkward, but they manage to find a rhythm that’s both comfortable and pleasurable. While his body reacting to the pleasurable stimuli is to be expected, the amount of emotion building up inside him is weird and he feels like he’s about to burst with it, but it is, all around, very pleasant. He simultaneously wants it to end and for it to last forever.

His orgasm takes him by surprise, completely unaware it would feel like this. He’s not used to experiencing desire at all, not even during Heats, which were generally bothersome because of that. Now, however, it feels like his blood is singing with the rush of happiness he experiments, his body feeling like jelly and his knees and arms failing to support him any longer.

His husband is saying something again, as he eases him onto his side. Sherlock hums contently, feeling warm and sated. He wants to curl next to John and sleep till the morning, his mind wonderfully quiet for the first time in his life.

His lover smiles, pressing a quick kiss against his forehead and surviving the mess they made with a critical eye. He makes a move to presumably tidy up a bit and Sherlock makes sure to make his displeasure known, by letting out a soft growl. John chuckles at that, settling next to him right afterwards.

Curled together like that, Sherlock thinks he was right, his life will be happier now. There’ll be obstacles of course, but they’ll make do.

Or at least, he dearly hopes so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? Does it feel a little rushed? I ultimately decided on another happish chapter, before going back to my usual, angsty ways. I’m going to leave it marked as finished, because, well… it does work too, doesn’t it? But it’s very likely I’ll be adding more. Eventually. As soon as I decide what I want to write next ;) Suggestions are, as usual, highly welcome.  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I valiantly tried to resist working on this. But my inspiration is stronger than my will and well… here we are. Beware, for the angst is about to begin!  
> It's not that bad, though. At least, I think so.  
> Enjoy?

Sherlock opens his eyes slowly, unsure of what woke him up. For a while, he remains perfectly still, the unfamiliar surroundings worrying him a bit, but eventually, memories of the night before come to him,  easing his worry.

He turns then, suddenly aware of how cold the other side of the bed is. He realizes that what woke him up was his husband leaving their bed and his heart starts beating furiously, wondering what happened.

John is standing next to the bed, oblivious of Sherlock’s scrutiny, busy as he is redressing. Sherlock makes a distressed noise, upset by his husband’s imminent departure and the other male turns to him, surprised.

The blond smiles softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss against Sherlock’s forehead. He whispers something in a soothing tone and then pulls away once more, going back to dressing.

Sherlock watches him in silence, trying not to worry much. When John has finished dressing, he turns to leave and Sherlock’s heart stops in his chest. He makes yet another distressed sound and his husband turns to him once more, a slight frown on his face.

Sherlock sits up slowly, angling his body in what he hopes is an enticing way. Whatever he did wrong to make his husband want to leave so soon, he hopes he'll manage to make up for it, if given the chance.

His husband smiles once more, leaning to kiss him again, this time on the mouth. He pulls away just as quickly though, and repeats his earlier words (or at least Sherlock thinks they're the same) before turning away again and this time actually exiting the room, sending one last reassuring smile in his direction.

Sherlock remains where he is, a dark frown on his face. He doesn't understand his husband’s reasons to leave and he hates that he's incapable of communicating, making the whole ordeal just plain frustrating.

He lies down, staring at the ceiling in quiet contemplation. He wonders what he did wrong and how can he fix it; he thought last night had gone well, he certainly found his husband’s attentions pleasing, but maybe John doesn't share his opinion. Maybe-

It hadn't looked that way, though. If anything, Sherlock had been confident he had managed to pleasure his partner, so why-?

Maybe it has something to do with his sleeping habits rather than with their amorous activities. Did he steal all the sheets or did he snore too loudly? It makes more sense than his previous theory, if not by much, but-

Or maybe it's just the human custom. He certainly saw several other doors that seemed to lead to similar rooms, so maybe humans just don't share sleeping quarters. Werewolves families sleep all in the same room; parents guarding the entrance and children all bundled up together for warmth. Humans however, seem to have weird concepts about privacy and modesty and whatnot, so-

He lies on his side, pulling his knees to his chest. With John gone, he's painfully aware of how big and cold the bed is and he hugs his knees close, in a desperate attempt to warm himself.

With a sigh, he shifts to his wolf form. That's how he's used to sleep; it's certainly much more comfortable and he feels less vulnerable than in his human form, but he still feels cold and alone. He misses Mycroft’s bigger body draped over him, keeping the cold at bay.

He stares at the closed door bitterly, angry at his husband’s abandonment. No half decent Alpha would leave his Omega alone at night, particularly not after mating and certainly not after their first time. And yet, here he is, all alone on his wedding night.

He hasn't been married for a day and he has managed to make his partner leave.

He'saware his thoughts are slightly irrational. If the human custom dictates that couples sleep in separate beds, it's hardly John's fault he assumed Sherlock would  like the room to himself. Still, he had made his distress known and the Prince had left anyway, so maybe-

As long as they can’t properly communicate, it's useless to speculate. Once he learns the language, he’ll demand an explanation and if the human custom is what’s keeping his husband away, he'll make sure to let him know he doesn't care for it. If there's another reason…

Well, he'll cross that bridge when he gets there.

* * *

 

The following morning, Sherlock wakes up feeling slightly more relaxed. The events of the early morning still weigh heavily in his mind, but he's determined to stay positive. He gets up and sets to explore his room, entertaining himself with analyzing the various items lying around.

He examines his new wardrobe next, inspecting the clothes with critical eye. They're made to fit loosely around his body, which he finds slightly weird, but he guesses it's another of those modesty things humans are so ridiculously fond of.

His exploring finally leads him to a mostly hidden door, which he opens hesitantly. The door leads to a small ensuite, which Sherlock inspects carefully. Werewolves’ bathing habits include trips to the freezing river in the early morning, so he's most  curious about  the room. He examines the bathtub and its handles, pleasantly surprised when it starts filling with deliciously warm water. He quickly immerses himself into the water, humming contently and feeling much better now than he did a few hours earlier.

He washes slowly, enjoying the luxury of the warm water and letting his muscles relax. He can feel the strain last night took on his body, although to be fair he hadn't minded back then. With a smile, he finishes washing himself and steps out of the tub, a shiver running across his body at the sudden change of temperature.

He walks back into his room, still perfectly naked and is startled by a sudden yelp. A maid had been busy rearranging the bed, but now she’s frozen still, staring at him open mouthed, a mighty blush covering her cheeks.

She snaps out of her stupor quickly enough, hurrying to look away and murmuring something that sounds apologetic. Sherlock isn't sure what the fuss is about, but he offers her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. The door opens, making the girl yelp again and go a deeper shade of red, which Sherlock finds both alarming and slightly amusing.

An older maid steps in then, saying something to the younger female in a sharp tone. The girl stammers out a response and slips out of the room, sparing one last curious glance in Sherlock’s direction. The older woman steps closer, still talking and Sherlock bites his lip, used enough to be chastised to know that's exactly what she's doing. The woman shakes her head fondly, patting his shoulder.

Sherlock frowns, unsure of what he did wrong and the woman passes him a large piece of clothing. He inspects it curiously and the woman rolls her eyes, wrestling him into the garment.

It's similar to a coat, but made from a much more flimsy material. It feels nice against his bare skin though, so he doesn't try to take it off.

« _Nightgown»_ she informs him seriously, pointing at the thing he's wearing. Sherlock frowns, but repeats the word, testing it.

The female nods approvingly and starts saying something again, gesturing widely and Sherlock manages to get the general gist of her words. Apparently, going around naked isn't appropriate, but  the _nightgown_ works fine if he doesn't want to dress.

Human and their _modesty,_ really.

Werewolves have no such concept, or at least it doesn't concern nakedness. There's nothing shameful about a naked body and so covering it is just a matter of protecting it from the elements. Since the weather is mild and inside the Castle  there doesn't seem to be the risk of coming in contact with something dangerous or poisonous, it  seems rather unnecessary, but-

«Mrs. Hudson,» the woman introduces herself finally, a confident smile on her lips and Sherlock just nods his head in acknowledgement, a smaller smile on his face.

The female smiles some more, before patting his cheek gently, almost affectionately and going back to work as if nothing had happened. Sherlock observes her for a while, not moving from where he's standing. Finally, the maid seems satisfied with the state of the room and exits it, after patting Sherlock’s cheek one last time.

He isn't certain that's appropriate behavior but something tells him Mrs. Hudson is not one to bother with such things.

He smiles, recalling the woman's affectionate touch. He's not used to that, not really. Mummy was terribly affectionate for a werewolf and yet she limited herself to the occasional slight squeeze of his shoulder. Still, he thinks it was… nice.

He could get used to this. He really could.

* * *

 

One of Sherlock’s problems, is that he bores easily and that tends to get him into trouble. It's not even midday and he's already half out of his mind with boredom, wondering idly what he can do to entertain himself.

His husband gifted him with a laboratory of sorts, but he's not certain he should adventure there just yet. It might be dangerous and somewhat foolish, considering he might end up making something blow up accidentally since well… he's not really familiar with the stuff in there. Still, by lunch time he decides he doesn't care enough about his safety and so any consideration for that be damned!

The problem now is finding his laboratory. There are far too many doors in the Castle and innumerable halls leading god-knows-where. Still, anything must be better than this never ending boredom and so Sherlock sets to explore his new home.

He ends up in a room that seems to work as a receiving room of sorts. Bored as he is, he decides to inspect it, not particularly curious but certainly bored.

The place is as heavily decorated as every other, with two cosy chairs sitting one in front of the other. There's a nice fireplace directly behind them, so he thinks it'll be a nice place to spend a cold winter night. A tall bookcase filled to the brim stands by the corner and Sherlock is immediately pulled to it, even if he knows he won't be able to understand a word.

The books contain nothing but endless lines of foreign words and so he tires of them easily. With a huff, he places the book back on its place and turns back to his examination of the room.

Two twin doors on each side of the room seem to lead to yet more rooms. He inspects the one on the left first and quickly realizes the room belongs to the Queen. The heavy dresses hanging on the closet confirm his deduction, but what really picks his interest is the bed.

It's as big as the one he spend the night in, but that's of course, not what got his attention. Werewolves have extremely sensitive noses, being able to ascertain what happened somewhere and recognizing friends and foes by scent alone. He frowns a little, for the bed smells of the Queen and the King, but there’s a third scent: fading, true, but there.

Puzzling, really.

He leaves the room shortly after, curiosity picked. As he expected, the door on the right leads to the King’s room and although he's not certain that all this investigating is “appropriate”, he can't help his curiosity.

The bed smells of the King and a female, but not the Queen. In fact, Sherlock thinks there might be two women and neither of them is the King’s wife.

He stands by the bed, lost in quiet contemplation.

He knows human aren't monogamous by nature, but considering their romantic inclinations he had assumed that once in a relationship, they remained faithful. It certainly sounds more romantic being loyal to one’s partner because you choose to be, rather than because your biology urges you to.

That, however, doesn't seem to be the case here.

True, the King and Queen probably had an arranged marriage and they didn't marry out of love, but the implications of that-

Moreover, his in-laws seem perfectly pleasant, sensible, down-to-earth people. If they see nothing wrong with having other sexual partners than each other, that means humans as a whole find the notion agreeable and that's- that's-

The fact that he finds the idea of his  husband getting a lover so upsetting is just plain ridiculous. He knows humans are different, he shouldn't have expected- he should only care for the practical matters that his marriage involve. Alliances, heirs and protection; nothing more and nothing less.

And yet he was hoping-

Maybe that's why John left the night before. Maybe he already has a lover he had to come back to, maybe there's someone he actually loves-

Why does the thought hurts so much?

He came expecting too much, that's why. He fancied himself the heroine of some cheap romance novel and he had allowed himself to forget his reality. He let go of all his good sense and reason and allowed _sentiment_ to overrule his logic.

Well. He knows better now, doesn't he?

* * *

 

His husband comes to him that night, all pleasant smiles and eager kisses. It's a bit… unsettling, considering all that he's learned today, but in any case, he knows better than to attempt to resist his partner.

And then John looks at him with such gentleness that he can't help imagining that his husband does care. Maybe he doesn't love him, but either way, it's too soon for that. They've just met, after all! But maybe- maybe he doesn't have a lover yet and if that’s the case, there's still hope for them.

If he can make John love him-

The idea almost makes him laugh out loud. Love him, really! His own family barely tolerated him, nobody has ever even _liked_ him and yet-

He pulls John closer, not allowing his pessimistic thoughts distract him from this moment. There's hope still and slim as it might be, he's willing to try.

It'll be worth it, he thinks, as his husband kisses him deeply.

It'll be most definitely worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? 
> 
>  
> 
> As you've seen, I’m thinking of keeping the dialogue in English, but what's supposed to be in another language will be written between these «» Easier  that way, I think, but please do let me know if it's not working and I’ll try something else (my german is a bit rusty, so I might settle for my native language then)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway… what did you guys think? There’ll be a bit of angst, mostly based on their   
>  _  
>  literal   
>  _  
>  inability to communicate and it's very likely Moriarty will make an appearance to complicate things further. Also, Irene might show up too (I just LOVE those two)
> 
>  
> 
> Deep down though (very deep down) I’m a romantic and a believer of   
>  _  
>  true love   
>  _  
>  and   
>  _  
>  soulmates  
>  _  
>  and what-not. So expect a happy ending (actually happy in this case, I think!)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Suggestions, constructive criticisms and encouragement are always welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I- well, it feels a bit weird to me, but I just don’t know how to fix it so… enjoy?

Sherlock wakes up to someone trying to wrestle the covers away from him. He growls darkly, baring his teeth at his mysterious attacker and gets an amused scoff for his troubles.

«None of that,  _ your Highness,» _ his attacker says, finally pulling the covers away from him. «It's not my fault you didn't go to sleep till dawn and I have duties other than cleaning your room, you know?» Sherlock growls once more and his “interlocutor" huffs. «And stop that immediately; I know you can understand me and are perfectly capable of actually answering me.»

Sherlock huffs, turning his head to the side and ignoring the maid. Mrs. Hudson sighs and proceeds to poke his side. «Up now, young man. Busy day ahead of you, with the coming delegations and whatnot»

At this, Sherlock lets out a groan, shifting to his human form right away so he can make his displeasure thoroughly known. Mrs. Hudson offers him an amused smile and goes on with her cleaning, ignoring him once more.

With a sigh, he sits up on the bed, quietly considering the merits of simply hiding away for the duration of the newest delegation’s “visit”. For the last month or so, a bunch of emissaries from neighbouring kingdoms have been coming around, negotiating alliances. It’s a bit strange, from what Sherlock has gathered, because while humans allegedly prefer peace, they don’t have any trouble initiating wars left and right. This time, however, they seem to be facing a rather  _ troubling  _ enemy and they’ve decided to stick together for once.

Sherlock has heard of the Great Moriarty, of course. A supposedly immortal wizard, that lives in the northwest mountains, commanding an army of undead soldiers. It’s been decades since the wizard was last seen, but if rumor is to be believed, he’s back and with plans to expand his empire and that’s more than a tad troubling.

As far as Sherlock knows, his own people have their own… accord with Moriarty, so the wizard should leave them alone, even if he declares war on the human kingdoms. Still, considering the recent alliance between his clan and this particular human realm… well, he’s not sure what might happen.

So he understands the need of the emissaries. He doesn’t like them, though. Ever since the constant parade of foreigners began, he’s been seeing less and less of his husband, partially because John is busy, partially he suspects because humans have ridiculous notions about sexuality and most people are a bit- well.

He’d rather not think about that.

Mrs. Hudson appears at his side, once again urging him out of bed. He huffs, glaring at the woman, but the maid remains perfectly unperturbed. With a dramatic eyeroll, he stands up and heads towards the bathroom, sending one last defying glance in the female’s direction, refusing to grab his nightgown.

Mrs. Hudson murmurs something about “stubborn children”, but Sherlock pays her no mind anymore, already focusing on what he might do to entertain himself for the day.

He has a long night ahead of him, after all.

* * *

 

After a couple of months of living with the humans, he’s quite familiar with their customs and their language, even if he pretends otherwise. He started understanding the language barely a week after his wedding and speaking it fluently in less than three weeks. And although he had felt the urge to brag about it, he had ultimately decided against it: his own people never reacted well when he did that, it seemed logical to assume humans wouldn't either.

As for his decision of asking his husband his reasons for leaving his side after coupling- well, that hasn’t worked out either. But, silly as it might be, he can’t help to feel a bit…  _ fearful.  _ He worries about what he might find if he goes around asking questions and besides, such conversation would require him revealing that he actually understands what people around him say and that’s-

Well. He’s not sure if that would be a good thing.

He hears the nasty words thrown at him, of course, along with the malicious gossip. But since people think he can’t understand them, he can go around playing the fool. If the truth was found out-

He has no delusions humans will be kinder to him than his pack mates were. He’s always been  _ the Freak  _ and he expects nothing different, not really, but he’s all too willing to continue with this charade if only to pretend, for a while, that people would be more- careful of what they say about him if they knew he can understand them.

Silly, isn’t it?

And there’s also the fact that he’s not sure how John will react. His husband likes to talk during sex, mostly endearments and sweet nothings, along with the occasional compliment and well-  _ he likes it _ . And he’s not certain if John would be as comfortable speaking if he knew Sherlock understands everything he’s saying so-

And of course, there’s also the matter of whether John will be interested in him anymore, really. He knows he’s-  _ difficult.  _ And if he and John get around talking… well, it’s entirely likely his husband will decide he wants nothing to do with him and that- that-

Why must it be so complicated?

He scowls darkly at the microscope, not really paying attention to the sample he’s supposedly examining. He spends a lot of time at his lab, but he rarely gets anything done: sometimes because the equipment is still a bit  _ mysterious  _ to him and sometimes (most of the times, really) because he gets lost in his own thoughts, more often than not contemplating his relationship (or lack of it) with John.

“Is there something wrong?” a female voice asks and Sherlock can’t help jumping a little, having been caught by surprise. The newcomer giggles softly, but hurries to stop after Sherlock throws her a dark glare.

“Nothing wrong,” he argues calmly, his attention back to his abandoned inspection of the north garden’s soil. It’s quite curious how each garden in the Castle has its own type of soil and to watch the different compositions under the microscope lense is a nice exercise that might prove useful at some point in the future, but unfortunately, it’s not quite interesting enough to hold Sherlock’s attention for long. “Where were you?” he asks, as the female drops her bags under the table, pulling her long hair into a messy ponytail.

“Watching the arrival of the newest delegation,” his companion replies calmly. “I’ve heard the South Kingdom had sent a delegation and well… I was curious.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Yet more humans. How joyful.”

The female laughs, amused. “They’re all not that bad,” she points out gently, starting to pick up some of the male’s abandoned experiments. “You certainly don’t think your Prince is that bad.”

Sherlock shrugs. “John is special.”

He doesn’t need to look up to see Molly’s half pitying look. John had introduced them just a day after the wedding, a big smile on his face, proud of having found Sherlock a sort of companion. A half-werewolf, who had never met other members of her Alpha mother’s race wasn’t exactly the best companion he could have asked for, but beggars can’t be choosers and whatnot.

Still, he likes Molly. She’s nice and sweet and so very patient. She also speaks their language, despite her very obvious accent and for those first days when he felt so utterly alienated-

Well. It was nice feeling like he wasn’t so alone.

But the thing is that’s she’s very perceptive too and so she can see how- hopeless Sherlock’s situation truly is. And there’s also the fact that she has seen first hand how badly human-werewolf relationships can go and well-

Sometimes it’s a bit too much.

“Did you manage to get the books I asked for?” he says after a beat, when the silence threatens to drown them. She nods eagerly, happy to change the subject before they end up discussing something that’s better left unsaid.

He’ll rather cling to his hope as long as he can.

* * *

 

The door to the lab opens at some point after what would have been lunch time and Sherlock turns to glare at the newcomer. He hates interruptions, particularly because interactions with the servants of the Castle are always akward, them too wary and unsure of how to approach him and him with little patience for nonsense.

This time, however, it’s not a servant the one intruding.

John smiles at him awkwardly, looking a tad unsure. Sherlock frowns, confused by his husband’s sudden presence; the Prince usually only visits him at night, leaving him on his own during the mornings.

«Eh, good morning,» the other male greets a bit nervously, addressing Molly. The girl hurries to vow politely and Sherlock’s frown deepens, uncertain of what to think about this odd exchange. «Do you- I need to speak to my husband,» he adds and Sherlock stands up, now unnerved. «Would you mind translating?»

Oh. Right. John doesn’t know yet that he can understand him. Molly looks at him, questioningly and Sherlock nods briefly. The girl smiles then, «of course, your Highness.»

John bites his lip gently, unsure of how to start. «A delegation from the south has just arrived,» he begins, his tone a bit stiff. «They’re- under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t even consider an alliance with them, but considering the situation-» he gestures vaguely and waits for Molly to translate his words. Sherlock ignores the female, his whole focus on his husband, who looks deeply troubled. «They’re bad news, really. But Father thinks we ought to be polite and treat them as we have all the previous delegations. Which means we’ll be hosting another dinner at the Main Hall,» he makes a face, evidently not agreeing with the King’s reasoning. «As usual, you’re expected to come but I- I would prefer if you stuck to my side this time. It’s- They’re not pleasant people and I would prefer if I could keep an eye on you.»

Sherlock just stares, waiting for Molly to finish translating, while he thinks about John’s words. It’s evident the Prince doesn’t like the newcomers and he considers them dangerous, so he wants to make sure Sherlock is… safe?

He’s not certain what to make of such revelations.

«Of course,» he replies evenly and realizes a second too late that he’s not supposed to be able to speak the language just yet. He blushes furiously and from the corner of his eye he catches Molly’s mortified look, but John simply smiles brightly at him.

«Oh, I didn’t know you could already speak a little!» the blond tells him delightedly, his smile entirely too joyful. «That’s brilliant!»

Sherlock blushes a bit more, looking away, not sure of how to react. John just smiles a bit more, coming closer to press a quick kiss against his cheek, «your brother mentioned you’re a quick learner but I didn't-» he blushes suddenly, realizing he's rambling and probably thinking Sherlock isn't following his words. «Eh… sorry. I just- I’ll take my leave now. See you tonight?» 

He sounds hesitant and Sherlock really doesn't know what to think, so he simply nods. John smiles once more, pressing one last kiss on his lips before exiting the room. When he’s gone, Sherlock lets out a sigh.

“Well, that’s- potentially troubling,” Molly comments offhandedly.

“Huh?”

“The delegation, I mean. It’s obvious the Prince doesn’t trust them and well… that can’t be good, right?”

Sherlock nods, thoughtful. 

“Let’s not worry about that just yet,” he says, for he's truly at lost of what to think. “Now, where’s that rabbit liver I was using the other day?”

* * *

 

The emissaries from the South turn out to be a bunch of old men, who are as stubborn and narrow minded as the members of the Elders Council. Sherlock attempts to ignore them, but they're just plain annoying and so he quickly finds himself wanting to escape their presence.

To make matters worse, John is nowhere to be seen and so Sherlock is stuck with his father-in-law. It wouldn't be too bad, he thinks, if he hadn't learned a few minutes earlier how much the King  _ disapproves  _ of him.

It all started when one of their visitors mentioned how-  _ odd _ it was that the Prince had married another male. Sherlock had heard it before, the disgust disguised as simple curiosity, but he had never particularly cared. He's happy he married John and werewolves don't particularly care about gender but-

The King had agreed it was odd and had gone as far as to say he hadn't actually wanted to agree to the marriage, but since they needed the alliance-

And  then he had said-

«Such a pity, really. My John was always quite popular with the ladies, but he now seems determined to remain faithful to his  _ husband.  _ I have hopes he’ll eventually see reason, though. As soon as he gets this one knocked up, of course»

«He's a pretty thing, though,» one of the foreigners comments, leering at Sherlock and he forces himself to keep his face perfectly blank, as if he hasn't understood a single word they're saying. «And quiet; that's always a plus.»

The King laughs at that. «A bit  _ slow _ , I think, and not all normal, even for animal standards, considering how eager his family were to get rid of him.»

Sherlock takes a deep breath, half tempted to write to Mummy and let her know what the King truly thinks of them. Once upon a time, most of the disputes between humans and werewolves were due the first considering the later to be nothing but dumb animals and, it seems, such view hasn't changed.

He can feel his blood boiling with anger as the males around him laugh, but the second part of the King’s statement finally registers and he deflates immediately. Was his own family truly eager to get rid of him? Mummy had always- and Mycroft-

He can feel tears stinging the back of his eyes, but he manages to maintain his calm. This is why, he reminds himself, John must never know he can actually speak his language. He knows John would want for them to talk and he's afraid he’ll scare his husband off and if that happens… 

Well, that's a dark prospect, isn't it?

He doesn't  feel like sticking around for the rest of this  _ unpleasant  _ conversation though, and so he stands up abruptly and leaves, the other males turning to look at him, but quickly going back to their own business.

He takes deep breaths as he makes his way back to his room, a part of him foolishly wishing for John’s arms around him. He knows he’s being silly, he knows that to keep hanging on his ridiculous hope will do nothing but hurt him and yet-

He thinks John is different. Different from these humans, different from his own clan. Especial- that he’ll finally understand him.

But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

Distracted as he is, he ends up getting lost, taking a wrong turn and ending in one of the gardens. He scowls darkly, frustrated with himself and unsure of where to go now. He tries to stay within the rooms he’s familiar with, knowing the Castle is  _ big  _ and always half worried he’ll end up lost forever.

That’s an exaggeration, of course, but-

He hears a shout coming from his left and he hesitates. He can hear the distress on the voice and he guesses he ought to do something, but he’s unsure of what exactly. He bites his lip, wondering if he ought to just ignore the sound and-

Another shout, this time followed by a scared whimper and he makes up his mind. It doesn’t take long for him to locate the source of the noise and he frowns at the scene in front of him, now more unsure of what he ought to do.

A group of soldiers (drunk soldiers) that have come with the foreign delegation are surrounding one of the Castle’s maids. The girl looks in the verge of panic, eyes open wide and tremors running across her body. He can smell her distress too, the pungent scent of pure horror filling his nostrils, along with the disgusting smell of the cheap alcohol the soldiers have been drinking.

He clears his throat once, getting the attention of the men right away. The girl turns to look at him fearfully, unsure and he gestures for her to run away. She hurries to obey, managing to escape the grabby hands of the soldiers since most of their attention remains on Sherlock.

He looks at the men with open disgust; one thing he has never understood is the way human males often abuse their females. It’s just weird and wrong and nothing his own race would ever overlook, but humans-

Who’s the animal, really?

The men are evidently angry for the interruption, but their slurred words are hard to understand and so Sherlock has no idea what they’re telling him. Not that it matters, really, by the tone alone he can tell they’re about to attempt to attack him. He’s not worried, though, well aware he’s perfectly capable of taking down 5 drunk men on his own.

Their movements are slowed down by the alcohol and Sherlock doesn’t think they’re particularly skilled at combat to begin with. Which of course, begs the question of how useful the South Kingdom’s alliance truly is, but now is not really the time for such questions, is it?

He manages to dodge most of the blows, ignoring the men’s building up anger. He’s getting tired, though, because unskilled as the soldiers might be, they certainly seem full of stamina and there’s five of them...

A punch lands on his cheekbone and he finds himself sprawled on the floor. His cheek stings from where the silver ring the man is wearing managed to tear up the flesh and he hisses in pain. Silver is very poisonous for werewolves and he really should have been more careful about that eventuality but-

Taking advantage of the lucky hit, the man pins him to the ground, holding his hands over his head forcefully. His companions are saying something, encouraging him and the man grins wickedly, pulling a knife from out of his clothes. Sherlock tries to throw him off, but his companions hurry to help and between the five of them, they manage to hold him still.

This is bad. Very bad. He closes his eyes, expecting the pain of the knife tearing into his flesh, but nothing happens. He hears shouting and the men are suddenly scurrying away quickly, cursing loudly. For a while, he remains completely still, a bit overwhelmed by what has just happened and then John is pulling him up, asking something in a worried tone, but Sherlock finds himself incapable of understanding him and his husband curses angrily, his eyes scanning Sherlock for any sign of injury other than the cut on his cheek.

«Poison,» he manages finally, gesturing to his injure. «Silver,» he adds, when John just looks at him confusedly.

His husband curses again, picking him up on his arms and Sherlock attempts to protest, but the blond silences him with a glare. He can feel the other male quickly losing his temper and so Sherlock figures it’ll be for the best if he simply lets him do as he pleases.

John carries him back to his bedroom, jaw clenched, his lips a very thin line. There’s worry in his eyes and anger too and Sherlock is embarrassingly pleased with it. He  _ knew  _ John cared, if only because they’re married, but to see him like this-

It’s probably wrong, but he can’t help the way he feels.

John places him on the bed and then turns to leave, prompting a whimper from Sherlock. He doesn’t want to be alone, not now, but John ignores him this time and leaves without a second look. He gulps, feeling abandoned and suddenly remembering his last conversation with the Prince.

He promised to remain at his side during dinner and instead he had gone and got himself injured. No wonder John doesn’t want to be with him right now, really; he can’t follow one simple instruction-

He hugs his knees to his chest, feeling very cold and very scared. He doubts the amount of poison currently running through his veins could truly cause him any lasting damage, but-

His heart aches and he wonders if the knife would have hurt less.

Probably yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? This wasn’t supposed to end here, but I figured the next part might work better in the next chapter. This was meant to be more of a filler chapter, with some world building but well… as usual, my writing ran away from me and it ended up moving the plot a bit along. I hope it doesn’t read as forced? Also, I’m bad at action scenes! God, those are hard! Sorry!  
> Thanks for reading though! And please let me know what you thought! Suggestions and constructive criticism are always welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...here’s a new chapter. I updated a bit earlier because I suspect I won’t have much time tomorrow and well… enjoy?

The door opens once more not even 10 minutes after John’s hasty departure and Sherlock looks up right away, entirely too hopeful. As it turns out, it’s not his husband the one at the door but Molly, looking worried and a tad scared and carrying a small bag with her.

“Oh, Sherlock,” she murmurs softly, hurrying to the side of the bed. The male looks away, unshed tears shining in his eyes, his heart feeling too heavy inside his chest. He’s not in pain, not really, but he feels tired and defeated and he just wants to be left alone.

Molly ignores his sulky silence and turns to clean his wound, carefully applying some sort of salve once she has finished. She urges him out of his clothes and takes stock of the rest of his injuries, a few bruises on his sides and his back. He didn’t quite register all the blows his attackers managed to inflict on him, but then, thanks to his werewolf blood, he’s far much more resistant than humans, even in this weaker form.

“John is so furious,” Molly whispers as she helps him into his nightclothes. Lifting his arms is a bit painful, but not quite as painful as knowing his husband is angry at him. “Oh, not at you,” she clarifies, when he lets out a soft whimper. “He’s just- He stormed into the dining room and he looked so- I was convinced he was going to kick the delegation out of the Castle all on his own.”

“What?” Sherlock questions softly, letting the girl put him to bed. Molly offers him a hesitant smile, pushing his hair away from his face, her hand lingering on the side of his wound.

“It was nice what you did,” she tells him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Helping Sophie, I mean.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, tilting his head to the side, confused. He finally realizes Sophie must be the maid the soldiers were molesting and so he simply shrugs, non committedly. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

Molly hufs, amused. “Are werewolves-? Mom always made them sound so much more decent than humans, but then I always wondered why would her clan kick her out for getting my other mom pregnant.”

Sherlock sighs, leaning back on the cushions. “We ought to protect the weaker members of the pack,” he murmurs softly. “It hasn’t anything to do with _decency.”_

Molly smiles, shaking her head. “This isn’t a pack, though.”

Sherlock shrugs once more, not completely sure of how to answer that. “Harassing others is wrong.” He remembers all too well being mistreated and Mycroft always used to jump at his defense when he was around, but sometimes- “I simply- I could help, so I did.”

His companion nods, thoughtful. “Well, either way, the Prince is far from pleased.” She smiles once more. “We might lose that alliance to the South.”

“It’s not like they’d be of much use,” he whispers darkly, “those were a sad excuse of soldiers.”

Molly laughs, patting his hand. “I’m sure.” She stands up then, heading towards the door. “Now sleep; I suspect you’ll have a bit of fever, so I’ll come back to check on you later.”

With that, he’s alone with his thoughts once more and so he decides to heed the female’s advice.

He’s quite tired, after all.

* * *

 

The next time he wakes up, someone is placing a cold wet cloth on his forehead. He feels like he’s burning from the inside, his stomach turning unpleasantly. He’s thirsty too, but when he tries to ask for some water, his voice breaks.

His companion seems to figure out what he wants though, for a glass of water is pressed against his lips shortly after. He drinks greedily, his stomach becoming more upset with each gulp, but far too thirsty to care.

«Easy now,» John whispers softly, running his fingers through his curls. «You’ll make yourself sick if you drink too quickly.»

He tries to slow down, he really does, but it feels like he hasn’t had a single drop of water since forever and so he can’t quite convince his brain that they’re not dying if they don’t carry on drinking.

John sighs, pulling the glass away from him and as Sherlock attempts to follow, he lets out a soft chuckle. He lets him take another sip, before finally putting it away. His fingers continue their slow caressing of Sherlock’s curls, his eyes soft and caring.

«Sorry,» Sherlock murmurs after a while, not quite daring to meet his husband’s eyes.

John shakes his head, looking troubled now. «I shouldn’t have left like that,» he says very slowly, clearly enunciating each word, in an obvious attempt to make it easier for Sherlock to understand. The werewolf can’t help smiling a bit, a soft blush quickly spreading across his cheeks. «I just- I was so angry! Those disgusting beasts; how dare they lay a single finger on you-» he has raised his voice, foregoing all considerations to Sherlock’s supposed lack of understanding of the language, his anger getting the best of him. Sherlock makes a soft noise, hoping to get him to relax, placing a hand over his arm. John bites his lip harshly, closing his eyes and he takes a deep breath before continuing, «but Father refused to kick them out of the Castle. He said- he said-» he bites his lip once more, this time managing to draw blood and Sherlock lets out a whimper, which immediately makes John take another deep breath. «I’m sorry. Just- don’t do that again, please.»

Sherlock nods hesitantly, unsure if he can keep that promise. What he told Molly is true; he was always taught it was his duty, as a son of the pack’s leader, to protect the weaker members of the clan. It’s true that this isn’t his pack and that he isn’t really welcome by most humans, but-

It feels important, somehow.

«I don’t mean- What you did, that was-» John sighs, frustrated. «I just don’t want you to get hurt again.»

Sherlock nods, a bit more convinced now. That he can do: he only needs to be more careful and he should probably retake his defense lessons. It might be a good exercise for Molly too; the girl is far too helpless for a werewolf, even a half-one like her.

Next to him, his husband sighs, gently cradling his face between his hands. «I’m sorry, I should have been there earlier.»

His feelings about that are bit complicated. True, if John had been with him at the dinner, he might not have left in such anger and therefore wouldn’t have lost his way, but then there’s no telling what would have happened to the unfortunate maid, not to mention-

How would John have reacted to his father’s words? Does he agree, to an extent, with him? Does he- does he think Sherlock a dumb animal too? Does he finds him _odd_ and not worthy of any consideration? Does his only interest in Sherlock lies on the heirs he can provide him with?

Judging by the way he’s looking at him right now, he finds that hard to believe. Still, a lifetime of being the cast out, of being mistreated and called awful names has left deep scars and so he can’t help to wonder-

Well. Better not to think about that.

«I should let you sleep,» John murmurs, attempting to stand up. «I should-»

«Stay,» Sherlock pleads and immediately bites his lip. He does want John to stay, of course, but because _he wants to,_ not because he feels obligated to.

John observes him for a beat, looking conflicted. Sherlock bites his lip a little harsher, trying to keep himself from asking once more for what he feels he has no right to ask. It’s obvious humans don’t think of their mates as werewolves do and so John really isn’t-

The Prince climbs in bed next to him, carefully arranging his body so he’s close to Sherlock, but not terribly so. He’s not certain if that’s a consideration about his fever or if the blonde simply doesn’t want to be too close to him right now, but-

«Goodnight, Sherlock» his husband whispers, placing a quick kiss against his cheek. «Sleep well.»

He will now, he thinks.

* * *

 

When he wakes up once more, his fever has abated a bit. He still feels warm, but not terribly so and there’s also a warmth weight wrapped around him and that’s probably making him feel much better too.

He turns around, careful not to wake up his companion and he can’t help smiling brightly at the sight that greets him. He thinks he wouldn’t mind a thousand quarrels if they lead to his husband sharing his bed for the night and waking up like this.

John sleeps peacefully, his face completely relaxed. His golden hair shines brightly under the first lights of the sun, looking soft and ethereal. Sherlock smiles to himself, thinking he would like to wake up like this for the rest of his life.

It can’t be like that, though.

But why not? A lifetime experience of being rejected and mistreated has lead him to believe he is _unlovable,_ but John _is_ special and so who is to say he can’t come to love him? It’ll require lots of effort, of course, but surely it’s not impossible? It seems to him-

John makes a soft noise, apparently waking up. Sherlock remains perfectly still, unsure of what’s the proper morning after etiquette, especially considering they didn’t actually do anything the night before. His husband offers him a lazy smile, evidently still half asleep, a hand immediately going to the back of Sherlock’s neck, caressing it lightly. «Morning,» he whispers softly and Sherlock attempts to smile, even if it feels a bit stiff.

«Good morning,» he whispers back and lets his husband pull him into a long kiss. It’s a bit- unusual, because this sort of thing only happens at night and it precedes their amorous activities, but Sherlock finds himself enjoying it too much to try to pull away.

John hands start wandering across his body, drawing pleased sighs from Sherlock. It’s not exactly what he’s used to, for John seems somewhat more- relaxed, there seems to be less _intention_ behind each caress. It’s a lazy exploration of his body, with no real expectation of it going anywhere. It feels somehow even more _intimate_ and _loving_ and-

The door opens abruptly and Sherlock lets out a groan. His husband chuckles, his lips still pressed against his collarbone and he turns to send a deathly glare in the door’s direction, hoping to scare the maid off.

Unfortunately, the one at the door turns out to be Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock is perfectly aware of how immune she is to his deathly glares. «Well, this is unexpected,» the woman comments good naturedly, calmly making her way to where the dirty laundry is waiting for her.  «Good for you two, though.»

«Mrs. Hudson...» John begins and the female sends a fond smile in his direction, which immediately silences him. Sherlock sulks, pulling the covers over his head, deciding to pretend none of this happened and earning himself an amused giggle from his husband.

«The delegation is leaving this morning,» Mrs. Hudson informs them. «The King is far from pleased.»

«Good,» John utters, slipping out of the bed and Sherlock stops himself from reaching for him. «I should probably be there for the goodbyes, though.»

«Probably,» the maid agrees with a shrug.  «Such unpleasant people. So happy they’re leaving so soon.»

John chuckles once more and leans to press a kiss against the top of Sherlock’s head, before hastily exiting the room. It's a bit- anticlimactic probably, but Sherlock figures there's nothing for it.

All in all, last night ended well enough.       

He's willing to count it as progress.

* * *

 

Molly checks his injury once more near midday. She seems to be in a pensive mood, and Sherlock is perfectly fine with being left with his thoughts, so they stay in perfect silence. The girl prods a bit at the slash on his cheek, which has already gotten infected and so it's a bit painful, but not unbearably so.

“It’ll probably scar,” Molly informs him once she's done with the examination and the cleaning of the wound. “But the infection should recede in a little while and I expect you'll be good as new by night.”

Sherlock nods, happy with the prognosis. By the time John comes visiting, he’ll be in perfect health and so they can-

Well. Maybe that's a bit of wishful thinking. It's entirely likely John will remain at his own quarters tonight, considering he spent the previous night with Sherlock. Just because he stayed the night before, he shouldn't assume they have a new sleeping agreement.

Although-

“The King was beyond crossed after Prince John’s- outburst,” Molly says softly, dragging him from his thoughts. “I would advice to keep a low profile right now,” she carries on, looking honestly concerned. “You wouldn’t want to get on the King’s bad side.”

He can hear the fear in her tone and her scent is sour with it, so Sherlock _knows_ there’s a real threat there. He gulps nervously and nods, thinking that with things looking upwards with his husband, it would make an awful lot of sense for things to start going downhill with his new “family.”

It’s the story of his life really: every time things are starting to look positive, something bad happens.

He should be used to it by now.

* * *

 

He spends the day at his quarters, reading. Although technically the written word should be far easier to understand, since he has very little practice with it, he finds himself struggling with the abecedary. So he welcomes the chance to practice for a bit, even if it feels a lot like he’s hiding.

The door opens at some point close to midnight and John walks in, a dark look on his face. Despite the human’s scent being rather mild, Sherlock can immediately pick up the frustration and fury in his husband’s and while a part of him is urging him to flee, he remains where he is, careful not to move abruptly so not to get John angrier.

The blond is talking to himself, his tone too low for Sherlock to truly pick up anything. Suddenly he curses loudly and kicks Sherlock’s desk, startling the werewolf. He thinks he ought to do something, but he’s completely unsure about what. “John?” he questions softly, making a move to stand up but freezes in place immediately when his husband turns to look at him.

There’s something- dark burning in John’s eyes and it’s just plain _gorgeous._ Sherlock thinks he ought to be a little more concerned, but he can’t really bring himself to be: he knows his husband is angry, furious even, but he knows with the same certainty he wouldn’t hurt him.

A second later, John is on him like a predator pouncing at its prey. Sherlock lets out a half pained sound at the sudden attack, the sound quickly changing to a pleased moan when his husband starts kissing him. There’s nothing tender about the kiss, but he believes there’s something- loving about it.

Funny, isn’t it?

John starts pulling at his clothes and Sherlock hurries to take off his nightshirt. His partner simply stares at him, not making a move to divest himself of his own clothing and that leaves Sherlock feeling a bit at lost. «God, you’re gorgeous,» his husband murmurs, pulling him down to the bed once more, devouring his lips enthusiastically. «So bloody gorgeous. How did I get so lucky?»

It’s not unusual for John to start babbling during sex, but this feels somewhat different. There’s a sense of desperation in each of his movements, as if he believes there won’t be another chance to do this. It leaves Sherlock breathless, but also, deep down, terribly scared.

«-not taking you away from me,» part of John’s speech gets lost, as he’s busy dragging his mouth across Sherlock’s abdomen and, to be completely honest, the werewolf isn’t terribly interested. Later, he’ll reflect on his husband’s words and worry about them, but right now-

For now, nothing matters but them. This moment is completely perfect and so he’s not inclined to examine anything too closely, not even a tiny bit willing to worry about something else.

* * *

 

«Can I ask you something?» John questions him in the wee hours of the morning, his hold around his waist tightening a bit. Sherlock nods against his partner’s chest, sleepy and satisfied and while not in the mood for talking, willing to go with it. Whatever John wants, John shall have. «Do you- umm- what are the chances of we conceiving soon?»

Sherlock’s heart stops in his chest, cold dread filling his every pore. The “overhead” conversation between his father-in-law and the south delegation still ringing fresh in his ears. Still, he forces himself to answer evenly and somewhat truthfully. «Unlikely now,» he says, purposely keeping his sentences short and not well constructed; it really won’t do to alert his husband of his ability to completely understand his language and to communicate in it. «Higher, heat.»

John frowns, a hand running up and down Sherlock’s spine. He looks thoughtful more than anything and so Sherlock hopes he’ll keep this conversation short. «Heat? Like- don’t take this the wrong way- actual wolves?»

Sherlock bites his lip, half amused by John’s clarification. He nods once more, still feeling a tad anxious but a bit relieved his husband at least tries to be delicate, unlike the King. The Prince looks deep in thought, resting his head against the top of Sherlock’s, humming to himself. «When?» he asks after a while and Sherlock wonders if he ought to answer with the truth.

«Two months,» he shrugs, hoping to convey it might be more or less time. In all truthness, he’s never been terribly regular about his Heats and that, he believes, will make conception complicated.

A problem that runs in the family, really. «And… the chances of more than one… eh… baby?»

Sherlock sighs, unsure of how to answer that. Werewolves’ litters usually consist of at least 2 pups, but his father never managed to carry more than one child, unless one’s willing to count Mycroft’s twin and considering Sherrinford hadn’t made it past the first year… “Not high.”

The conversation leaves him feeling hollow, dreading the implications of it. During these first months of their marriage, his husband has shared his bed if only for sex almost daily, except when meetings with emissaries ran long. He assumed it was because his husband found it pleasurable, but now he’s beginning to wonder if he was just hoping to get him pregnant and be done with it. Following that logic, if Sherlock manages to carry twins, it’ll make things even easier, for it would provide the Crown with an heir and an spare.

And then what? What will happen to him?

He thinks of the Queen, of how- content she seems. The King might be a bit of a jerk (well, a complete jerk), but he at least doesn’t mistreat his wife and, apparently, he doesn’t mind her lovers. Will that- is that the future that awaits for him?

The idea feels like a knife to his heart. Even if werewolves weren’t monogamous by nature, he’s not sure- «Are you alright?» John asks, pulling away a little, concern written all over his features. «Are you feeling unwell? I’ll call for Molly-»

He makes a move to stand and Sherlock grabs him by the wrist, pulling him back onto the bed. John blinks, a bit confused and so Sherlock finds himself unsure of how to proceed. His mind is reeling and he feels completely at lost, but his husband’s presence keeps him grounded despite everything and so-

He kisses his companion once more, deep and long, carefully coming to straddle him. It’s- a weird position, to be honest and he’s not entirely sure he likes it, far more comfortable with being _under_ his husband, but it’s not horrid.

He knows humans go about sex in different ways than werewolves do. While sex is mostly aimed towards conception for his race (and it's a bit of a possession matter), he knows humans care much more about the pleasure, as it has been thoroughly demonstrated by his husband’s insistence on pleasuring him before he penetrates him. He figures it’s high time he starts reciprocating.

He’ll do anything that rises his chances of John not replacing him with someone else.

Anything at all.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? I’m really concerned about how the last part reads; I like the phrasing, but I’m worried. So… let me know what you thought?  
> Next update might take a little longer because I’ll be away during the weekend (it's my sister's birthday!) and I have a very important test on monday, so I need to study too. Any good vibes you can send in my direction will be greatly appreciated too!  
> Anyway, thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silences are always costly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m so SO sorry for the late update but last week was chaotic and I had so many tests to study for… hopefully, I’ll get a job out of all my hard work and when that happens, I’ll definitely be able to update more steadily (because of course I’ll be writing at my new job. Because that’s what I do, never mind what else I’m actually supposed to be doing)  
> Oh, WARNING for some dubious con at the end of the chapter. Nothing actually happens but well… better safe than sorry!  
> In the meantime… enjoy?

His skin feels too tight and the room is too warm, despite the fact that all the windows are open and it’s nearly winter. He paces around the room, feeling like a caged animal, fighting the urge to start growling.

It’s never been this bad, but then, he wasn’t mated before.

Heat is a complicated time for every Omega werewolf. While the whole purpose of it is to conceive, it actually makes them more wary of their Alpha counterparts. Alphas can turn pretty aggressive when they’re around an Omega in Heat and far too likely to hurt anyone that stands in their way.

That’s why marriages no longer take place shortly before Heats. The results were usually unpleasant, leaving the Omegas scared of their mates and unwilling to be around them most of the time. Supposedly, by having the chance to build up a relationship before sharing an actual Heat, the process runs more smoothly and everything works out better.

Be as it may, that’s truly not Sherlock’s case.

John is human of course, so he’s not affected by his pheromones and so he hasn’t turned aggressive, but that also means he lacks the stamina to put up with Sherlock’s needs. It’s frustrating and even worse than if he was on his own, since his body craves to be mated and while his husband tries, it’s obviously taking a toll on him, which only leads to making the werewolf feel more frustrated.

He has always hated being in Heat, feeling betrayed by his own body and its ridiculous needs. But it was manageable before, since his body wasn’t quite expecting to be breed because he lacked a mate. But now that he’s married and that his body has come to recognize he has a partner and so the expectation is to carry on with the species and-

Biology has never been his forte, since he has never cared enough to really learn how everything works, but he knows enough to realize that these next few days are going to be hellish. His body will continue urging him to mate and John- well, John will try his best, but there’s only so much his human body can put up with and he’s going to end up pretty exhausted.

He takes a deep breath, urging himself to ignore his body’s cravings. John has just fallen asleep and he’s not about to wake him up so they can have sex once more, he just won’t. His husband needs his rest and in any case-

God, it’s awful.

He wonders if a long bath would help somewhat. If he could sleep, he would try that, but he knows he’s too… _worked up_ for him to relax enough to achieve any amount of sleep. With a sigh, he turns towards the bathroom, hoping it’ll help if only for a bit.

He’s out of ideas, so he can only pray it’ll work, if only for a while.

* * *

 

It’s nearly a week before the grip of his hormones over his mind lessens and by then, Sherlock is half convinced he has gone insane. John laughs when he says as much, a loving look on his face. When he kisses him- once, chastely- Sherlock thinks that all his frustration is well worth it; he wouldn’t change his _human_ husband for all the Alphas in the world, no matter how horrid Heats might turn out to be.

And that’s quite telling, isn’t it?

* * *

 

As he suspected, he ends up not getting pregnant despite his husband’s best attempts. He’s not sure what are the odds, considering their different races, but he already knew it was likely he would find hard to conceive. Still, John doesn’t seem terribly disappointed, so Sherlock wills himself not to worry just yet.

Next time, maybe.

Hoping and praying is all he has left, after all.

* * *

 

John spends more time with him every night, but he usually leaves before dawn. It’s not terrible and Sherlock supposes it can count as progress, so he doesn’t press for more. They don’t talk much or rather, John talks quite a bit and Sherlock simply listens, occasionally answering a question or two in short and badly constructed sentences. He’s still unsure of the merits of letting John know he has learnt the language and so he prefers to speak little, even if sometimes he has very definite opinions on John’s troubles.

There are no more incoming news about Moriarty’s alleged return and so the alliances they had been trying to stablish have fallen into a bit of stalemate. Not that Sherlock thinks it matters much, but John seems concerned and a bit fearful that if things continue like this, the threat will be promptly dismissed and so when the wizard actually chooses to attack, he’ll take them by surprise.

It’s a likely scenario, of course, but Sherlock believes they ought not to rely quite as much on other kingdoms. But then, Sherlock is used to the way werewolves deal with threats: on their own and straightforwardly. The marriages and alliances between clans are more means to keep the peace between the members of their race than offers of aid should anything happen. Of course, clans would unite against an enemy as dangerous and powerful as Moriarty, but minor threats are to be dealt locally.

So maybe he ought not to voice his opinion on the matter.

And so months pass and nothing really changes, his little… _skirmish_ with the soldiers from the south delegation apparently long forgotten. All for the best, he supposes, since he really doesn’t want to get on his father-in-law’s bad side and the King seems happy enough to ignore him on regular basis.

And then the visit from a delegation from the Northwest happens.

* * *

 

The King asks to speak with him shortly before midday and Sherlock finds himself pacing nervously around the throne room. He’s a bit worried, he won’t deny it, wondering what might have happened that prompted the older male to actually ask for him. He bites his lip as he goes through his mental list of everything he has done lately that could be considered _not-good_ by his human in-law.

The door opens, allowing the King inside. Sherlock stands up straighter, willing himself to keep his face perfectly blank and not show his nervousness. The King sits on his throne and stares at him for a bit, as one would stare at a particularly bothersome mosquito: with some annoyance, but with no real urge to get rid of it.

At least not yet.

Sherlock gulps, but keeps his head up. He refuses to be intimidated, or at least to show it. It’s true he has been living with the humans for a long while now, but he still feels much like a stranger and sometimes-

Well. It’s not easy, really.

The door behind him opens and he forces himself to keep on staring forward. He notices someone has come to stand next to him, but it’s not until John’s hand slips into his that he recognizes his husband and so he finds himself breathing a tad easier.

«You wanted to see us, Father?» John asks, his tone calm and collected, but Sherlock can hear the troubled edge beneath. He’s just as worried as he is, but he’s much better at hiding it.

The King looks between them, his eyes finally settling on their linked hands and John tightens his grip. Sherlock squares his shoulders, feeling a bit braver and quite comforted by his husband’s presence. «Yes,» the monarch replies simply, his face betraying nothing. «I’ve been informed we’ll be shortly visited by a delegation from the Northwest.»

Next to him, John tenses. The kingdom beneath the mountain where the Dark Wizard has taken residence has always been rewarded with mistrust and considering the recent events- «Are we actually receiving them?» John asks, his tone betraying his worry.

«Yes,» the King hisses, «they could be very valuable allies.»

«But Father-»

«I didn’t call you here to question my decisions, boy» the older male sentences darkly and John snaps his mouth shut, his jaw clenching. «I called you in here to tell you you and your pet better behave if you-»

«Don’t you fucking dare to call him that!» John exclaims angrily and it’s Sherlock’s turn to tighten his grip on his husband’s hand. The Prince glares darkly at his father and Sherlock has never felt this cared for.

The King regards them carefully, as if measuring his options. When he stands up, John moves to stand in between him and Sherlock, holding himself as tall as he is, letting go of Sherlock’s hand in order to place it on top of his sword, ready to draw it if needed

This could turn very ugly very quickly. And yet-

Father and son stare at each other for the longest time, the air around them filled with tension. Sherlock has to fight his urge to pull John with him and run as fast and far away as he can; even if he knows it won’t solve anything (and in fact might make it worse), he can’t help to feel-

«Just behave,» the King says warningly, his eyes slipping from John’s face towards Sherlock’s. «Will you?”»

«Of course,» Sherlock replies, before his husband can open his mouth. He knows these are dangerous waters and it would be for the best not to pick up a fight right now. It wouldn’t end well for anyone involved.

John doesn’t seem quite convinced, but he nods stiffly, turning around and grabbing Sherlock by the wrist. He sends one last wary glance in his father’s direction and they exit the room, closing the door with a bang.

Once outside, John leans against the wall and sighs.

«God, what a nightmare,» he whispers softly and Sherlock nods in agreement. The Prince turns to him then and presses a bruising kiss against his lips, making the werewolf hum in appreciation. «I’m sorry about that. So sorry.»

Sherlock shrugs, unwilling to show how much the King’s words have affected him. He thinks he ought not to care, not one bit, but- «It’s fine,» he murmurs, leaning down for another kiss.

«It isn’t,» John argues, when they pull away for air. «He’s wrong. You’re not- You’re my husband and I- I-» he bites his lip viciously then, making Sherlock wonder what he’s trying not to say. «Nevermind. I- I need to go. I’ll see you tonight.»

And with that he’s gone, leaving a very confused Sherlock behind.

What has just happened?

* * *

 

The delegation arrives late at night, shortly after dinner has been served. The King seems a bit displeased at being forced to interrupt his meal, but the Queen murmurs something into his ear and he finally agrees to meet the emissaries.

Once more, Sherlock finds himself wondering about his mother-in-law. The Queen seems to hold quite a lot of influence over the King and yet-

He has never before attended an official meeting with a peace delegation, but considering dinner has just been interrupted, he gets dragged along by his husband. He must admit he’s terribly curious, so he doesn’t complain.

The delegation is composed by four men and two women. Going by their clothing and stances, Sherlock can tell the men are soldiers and the females-

Both are high born, although he can tell the light haired one has been trained as a bodyguard too. The dark haired one though, judging by the way she holds herself and her more than perfect manners, is obviously-

«Princess Irene of Adler,» the female introduces herself, with an elegant curtsy. She smiles somewhat sweetly, but there’s something dangerous and promising beneath it all and Sherlock can’t help to feel intrigued.

He finds himself staring with a little too much interest at the beautiful woman, although her physical attributes are the farthest thing on his mind. She moves with a grace and elegance that seems almost inhuman and the way her eyes seem to flash golden in certain lights-

Yes, her eyes flash a different color and her pupils slit when the lights dim in a most curious manner, almost like-

But werecats are supposed to be extinct and even if they weren’t- how did one end up as a Princess from a human Kingdom?

Most intriguing really.

So his staring is completely justified, although it’s not like anyone would truly question it, seeing every male in the room (along with Princess Harriet) seems perfectly enthralled by the female. But Sherlock is more curious than anything else and yet-

Well. It’s about to cause trouble either way.

* * *

 

The meeting with the visiting delegation seems to run far much smoother than they did with any of their predecessors. Sherlock would find it curious, but he suspects he knows the reason why; if he’s correct about Princess Irene being at least part werecat, it makes an awful lot of sense.

Werecats were generally mistrusted by all other races and with good reason: their physical attractiveness was part of the reason why they could get away with almost anything, but there’s also the fact that they have hypnotic powers, similar enough to the one’s of the singing mermaids and just as deadly for those who fell victims of them.

Of course, that’s what the legend says. Werecats have been long extinct (or so it’s said) and so Sherlock has no actual proof they have such powers. However, seeing Irene the night before…

Well, he thinks he has good reason to believe the stories have some merit.

He’s intrigued, to be completely honest, his natural curiosity getting the best of him as it usually does. Which is why he ends up being such an easy prey and gets caught completely by surprise by the very cunning and very beautiful Princess.

He really ought to learn to tame his curiosity.

It’ll just keep getting him in bigger and bigger messes.

* * *

 

He walks into his bedroom a little later than usual, feeling bone tired but deeply satisfied. Since John had left very early to see something about the ongoing negotiations, he had decided to start working on a rather complicated experiment very early and so he had managed to finish, with adequate results. He’s feeling confident he’ll manage to improve his current solution if only-

His thoughts get interrupted by the sight that greets him inside the bedroom. Princess Irene is sitting on the bed, legs primly crossed and not a single item of clothing covering her. Her dark hair has been pinned up in a complicated hairstyle, emphasizing her rather attractive shoulders and neck and her lips are painted dark red, contrasting beautifully with her ivory skin.

None of this grabs much of Sherlock’s attention, though. His eyes sweep over her curiously, unsure of what to think. As a werewolf, nudity has never meant much to him, but after living with humans for nearly half a year, he has come to understand that it seems to have some kind of intimate connotations.

The woman observes him in silence, her eyes sparkling with amusement at his obvious uncertainty. She smiles invitingly, pating the place next to her on the bed and Sherlock finds himself taking a seat, despite every instinct in his body urging him to run away.

Has he fallen prey of hypnotism? Should he feel concerned? And yet-

Before he can even think of asking something, the woman settles herself on his lap in just one smooth movement. His whole body freezes, tension filling his every pore, but finding himself incapable of escaping: it’s not that he can’t, it’s just that he doesn’t _want_ to and that’s-

«Such a pretty thing,» Irene whispers against his ear, her lips ghosting over his jaw in a strangely sensual way. «What a pity you’re already taken. But then, maybe we could a have a little fun, huh?»

Sherlock doesn’t move, his blood thrumming with desire. It’s so very weird; he’s never felt this way, not even during Heat and certainly never with John, but-

«I don’t-» he begins, but the woman silences him with a bruising kiss that leaves him panting. His body is reacting to the female’s attention and it makes no sense whatsoever, but-

«Don’t fight it,» she whispers, biting lightly on his chin, «you know what I am. You know it’s useless to fight it.»     

His suspicions confirmed, Sherlock finds himself quietly panicking. He doesn’t want this and he knows it will make things terribly complicated should John find out but while he doesn’t feel- while he suspects he could escape if he tried hard enough, his mind and body urge him to surrender to the pleasure and to simply-

The door opens and the spell is broken. John stands by the door, perfectly still, his mouth hanging open. Something that looks an awful lot like hurt flashes in his eyes, but it’s quickly gone and replaced by something far more dangerous and unforgiving.

«John-» Sherlock whispers, his body reacting far too slowly, as if he was waking up from a dream. «I-»

«Sorry to interrupt,» the Prince says, looking away, clenching his jaw. «I’ll just- I’ll leave, yes?» and with that he’s gone, not staying long enough for Sherlock to try to respond. Irene huffs, rolling her eyes, annoyed by the interruption but eager to go back to what they were doing. Sherlock pushes her off unceremoniously, earning himself a displeased yell from the female, but he ignores her in favor of rushing after his husband.

Oh god, what has he just done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t help feeling something else was supposed to happen here but I can’t- for the life of me- remember what. There’s some backstory I was supposed to write here, but well… I seem to have forgotten!  
> Anyway… let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very enlightening talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’m sorry for taking so long to update, but well… as I’ve already said, I’m looking for a job and with a little luck, I’ll have something to show for all my efforts soon enough ;)  
> In the meantime… enjoy?

Chapter 7

The guards outside John's room eye him curiously, but neither dares to try to stop him once he attempts to go inside. Later, he’ll reflect on the lack of guards at his own doors, but for now, his whole focus is on his obviously upset husband.

John is pacing around the room, angrily pulling at his hair. At the sound of Sherlock stepping in, he turns to face him, that dangerous look in his eyes back and so Sherlock hesitates.

For a beat, neither of them move. Sherlock’s heart is pounding painfully inside his chest; he needs to _fix_ this, he just doesn't know what-

«Get out,» John orders simply. His tone is harsh, angry, but Sherlock can see he’s trying very hard not to break down. His eyes are red rimmed, bright with unshed tears.

Sherlock’s heart stops, John's pain overwhelming. He wants to go and hug his husband, try to stop him from hurting, but he's fairly certain his advances won't be welcomed right now.

«John-»

«Leave, Sherlock,» the Prince orders darkly, turning away from him. «I don't want to talk to you right now.»

«John-»

«I said leave!» his husband’s words feel like a slap on the face and Sherlock is half tempted to obey, his poor heart hurting too. Still-

«No. If you let me explain-»

«Explain!» John cries despairingly «explain! You want to explain! What is there to explain, Sherlock?! I think that the image I was presented with was pretty self explanatory, don't you agree?»

«No!» Sherlock yells, stepping closer, his hands immediately reaching out for his husband without any conscious thought. «That's not- it's not what it seems.»

«Oh, isn't it?» John questions ironically, once more facing him, glaring darkly. «I know- I know we- it's not like I really expected you to be faithful. We're just- we’re just supposed to have a couple of children together and be done with it, but I thought- I honestly believed-» his eyes harden then, face going perfectly blank. «Nevermind. My mistake.»

«It’s not- I want more than that too!» he pleads, attempting to grab John's hand but the Prince pulls back. Sherlock bites his lip, uncertain of what he can say to get John to listen. «Please John, just- just listen to me. I don’t- I would never cheat on you! Even if I wanted, I’m not biologically capable of it!»

«How reassuring,» John growls, crossing his arms in front of his chest and Sherlock gulps.

«That's not… that's not what I meant,» the werewolf whispers sadly, starting at his feet. «I only meant-»

«I really don't want to hear it, Sherlock» John murmurs defeatedly. «Just go back to Princess Irene. I'm sure you'll find a way around this biological impediment of yours.»

Sherlock growls, frustrated. Words are failing him and he’s not sure if there’s something he can say that would convince John to listen, but maybe…

He approaches his husband once more, ignoring John’s attempts to back away. Once he has him cornered against the wall, he places a hand lightly on his chest. John looks at him warily, torn between pushing him away and letting him do whatever he wants. Sherlock takes a deep breath, closing the space between them, so their chests are pressed together. «I don’t want anyone else,» he murmurs softly «I never wanted anyone at all, but ever since I met you- Maybe it’s just wishful thinking and at least it’s partially my wish to not to be alone anymore, but I- I enjoy your company greatly, John. Not just- not just sexually, I mean in general. You make me feel… happy. Accepted. Not judged. And I could never- I don’t take that for granted. I would never do anything that could jeopardize what we could have. I, like you, believe this has the potential to be so much more than what it already is.»

John observes him in silence, biting his lip. «If that’s true- what the hell was that about?» he asks softly, his hurt evident in his tone. Sherlock’s heart clenches painfully, hating that he has caused his husband so much pain, however unwillingly.

So he explains, as best as he can, his suspicions about the Princess and how they’ve been confirmed tonight. And once he starts talking, he finds himself incapable of stopping, quickly switching between topics and addressing the King’s awful comments and how they’ve fueled his own insecurities. He speaks of his wishes and secret longings, of all the things he fears John might not want and how desperately he wants them. Of how full of hope he feels while in his husband’s arms and how hollow he feels when they’re apart, no matter the reason.

John listens in silence, frowning at places, smiling softly (almost coyly) at points. He relaxes gradually, his hurt slowly fading and Sherlock finds himself breathing easier, his heart going back to its normal tempo now that the fear and the adrenaline are fading.

«Well, that’s- that’s-» John begins, once Sherlock is done. He realizes he has been speaking for a very long time and his mouth feels completely dry, but he also feels like a heavyweight has been lifted from his shoulders. «It’s good to know I’m not alone in this,» he says with a light, almost nervous chuckle. «I just- It’s a little too much to take in, you know?»

Sherlock bites his lip, feeling sheepish now. He had been doing such a good work of keeping his thoughts to himself and now- «I’m sorry. I’ll-» he turns to leave, feeling terribly embarrassed. He’s said too much, hasn’t he?

«Don’t.» John stops him, grabbing him by the wrist. «I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I just- God, I find it hard to talk about these things...» he laughs nervously once more, running his fingers through his hair. «And I- Well, a few minutes ago I was convinced I was a fool and that you didn’t feel the same and now- well, you see my point, don’t you?»

Sherlock nods hesitantly, placing his hands on John’s shoulders, unsure of what to do now. A part of him wants to pull the Prince into a kiss or maybe just a hug and another part of him is too terrified to even contemplate making a move-

«I’m sorry about everything, really. My father- well, I knew he hadn’t taken the marriage well, and he certainly hasn’t been shy of expressing his thoughts on the matter but- I never thought-»

«It doesn’t matter,» Sherlock assures him, seeing the Prince is quite distressed by it. «As long as you don’t share his opinion-»

«Of course I don’t share his opinion!» John exclaims loudly. «I never- I mean, if you- if you decided you didn’t want me anymore, I suppose-»

«Don’t be ridiculous, John.» Sherlock chides, rolling his eyes. «That’s never going to happen.»

The blond laughs, a tad hysterically in Sherlock’s opinion, but he doesn’t comment. «Yeah. Right. Because of a biological impediment?»

The werewolf huffs, now officially frustrated with their talk. «No,» he sentences, «because you’re you.»

The Prince stares at him for a beat, something flashing in his eyes so fast that Sherlock can’t make sense of it, but before he knows it, he’s being kissed within every inch of his life and he’s kissing back just as fiercely, glad they seem to have sorted out their problems.

At least for the time being, that is.

* * *

 

Their couplings are usually full of sweet kisses and gentle words, but not tonight. Tonight, for the first time in their marriage, John is actually a tad forceful and rough and Sherlock loves every minute of it. This is much more similar to a regular mating between werewolves and he feels- strangely excited and a tad nervous, unsure, as if all their previous times hadn’t happened at all.

It’s a new experience for sure and he revels on it. John is usually so considerate of his pleasure, so used to the human way that he always treats Sherlock a bit too delicately, much to the werewolf’s frustration. It’s not that he hasn’t enjoyed it before, but this feels much more… desperate and needy and just so wonderful.

It might a bit weird, but he’s not about to start thinking much about it.

There are several biting marks all over his neck and a few spreaded across his chest. He remembers all too well John’s fingers digging on the delicate skin of his hips and he has the marks to prove it. There’s a love bite on the inside of his tight and he’s a little sore, but he’s never felt this satisfied in his whole life.

All in all, this whole affair with Princess Irene had a most satisfying ending.

* * *

 

He wakes up to the feeling of being watched. He peels his eyes open and is immediately aware of the warm body behind him, along with the weight of John’s arm wrapped around his middle. He smiles sleepily, curling closer to his husband and John chuckles warmly, pressing a quick kiss against the back of his neck.

«I’ve been thinking,» John whispers, peeping kisses all over his shoulders and Sherlock isn’t really paying attention, his body already reacting to his husband’s attentions. «You lied to me.»

Sherlock hums, a part of his mind quietly panicking, but since John doesn’t sound particularly angry and he’s still kissing him so deliciously, as well as rolling his hips in perfect syntony with his, his brain fails to really grasp the meaning of such words.

He wonders if this is what humans call love making and promptly decides he doesn’t care one bit what it’s called, but he likes it almost as much as their desperate mating from the night before. They move slowly together, bodies pressed together, but without any actual penetration. John’s hands roam over his body, caressing him lazily, driving him wild with desire and yet, he feels no urge to speed things up. He moans and hums and sighs, all the while John keeps whispering sweet nothings against his ear, his grip around him tightening as his orgams approaches.

When it’s over, his mind finally catches up with John’s soft assessment before their activities begin. He’s still too high on hormones for him to really worry about it, but there’s a niggling sense of worry in the back of his head all the same.

«You lied to me,» John repeats some time after, his lips still pressed against the nape of his neck and Sherlock sighs, closing his eyes.

«About what?» he whispers back, his body feeling entirely made of jelly and so incapable of any movement. John shifts behind him and that’s when he begins panicking, but his husband simply rearranges him so they’re facing each other.

«About you not speaking the language. How long has it been since you've been so fluent?»

Oh. So focused on getting John to listen the night before, he had simply forgotten he wasn’t supposed to be able to express himself so clearly. He bites his lip, wondering how much of the truth it would be wise to tell, but when he looks into John’s eyes, he figures it’s time to stop telling lies, no matter how little.

«Almost since the beginning,» he confesses «A couple of weeks after we married. I’m a very fast learner and well...» he looks away. «I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.»

«Why didn’t you tell me, though?» John questions softly, a hand resting on Sherlock’s hip, drawing lazy circles over it.

That’s a difficult question. To tell the truth- and yet, it’s time to be completely honest. «I didn’t think it wise.» When John just frowns at this, Sherlock sighs and forces himself to continue. «I’ve been reliably informed I’m not an enjoyable person to be around and I figured- if you knew I could actually speak your language you would want us to talk and you would realize just how intolerable I am and-»

«Sherlock,» John interrupts harshly. «I don’t find you intolerable.»

He huffs, unbelieving. «Of course you don’t. You haven’t had the chance to get to know me better. But when you do-» he bites his lip harshly, avoiding his husband’s eyes, which are now filled with sadness and _pity._ «I can promise I’ll stay quiet while we have sex. You don’t have to-»

«Sherlock, don’t be ridiculous,» his husband interrupts him once more. «Didn’t we agree last night that we both wanted more than that? Something- real?»

Sherlock closes his eyes, keeping his tears at bay. «You say that now-»

«And that won’t change,» John assures him earnestly, his hands cupping his face delicately. «Nothing will change that. I know you don’t believe me now-» he adds, when Sherlock huffs once more. «But I’ll try my best to prove it to you.»

«I’m- I’m a difficult man to love, John.»

The blond laughs, pressing a quick kiss against the top of his nose. «Good thing I’ve always liked challenges,» he says lightly, a bright smile on his face and Sherlock frowns, unsure of what to say. A part of him desperately wants to believe him, but another part of him-

Well, he knows better, doesn’t he?

John smiles sadly at him then, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips. «Hey, no long faces now. Not when we have finally talked about what we want and we want the same thing.»

He supposes he’s right. For now, he’ll let the matter rest.

Time will tell who was right.

* * *

 

“Well, I’m glad you worked it out,” Molly comments, her attention fixed on correctly measuring the chemicals they’re working with, not wanting to have yet another explosion at the lab (the first two weren’t Sherlock’s fault, no matter what the girl says)

“I’m glad too,” he confesses softly and Molly eyes dart quickly to him, before going back to the chemicals, a small smile making its way to her face.

“Told you you just had to tell him the truth,” she adds after what feels like a lifetime and Sherlock pouts. She laughs, putting her instruments down and turning to face him fully. “I’m happy for you, Sherlock. I really am.”

He smiles at her, knowing she speaks the truth. They turn their attention back to their own measurements, resuming their working in perfect silence. At least until Molly thinks of something else to say. “What about the alliance? And Princess Irene?”

Sherlock smirks at that. “Oh, well, the alliance was important. John simply- made a point of how I’m taken and Princess Irene should keep her hands to herself.”

Molly looks at him for a beat, before bursting into laughter, Sherlock following shortly after. “I would have loved to watch that!” she exclaims between giggles and Sherlock nods eagerly, thinking he would have liked to be there too, but John’s account works well enough.

Things definitely worked out for the best.

And he couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone? This was supposed to be longer and we were supposed to see a bit more of Irene but well… it just didn’t work out. We might still see her in the next chapter, but I’m not entirely sure. I’m really dying to write Jim (it's such a lovely plot point, really!) into the story and so I might have to let go of some minor plot lines that were supposed to happen before (I’m just having a very hard time trying to say goodbye to the bit of Mystrade I wanted to write into this…)  
> I’m a little concerned about my grammar. This chapter feels… weird somehow. Please point out any mistakes you found!  
> Anyway… let me know what you thought?  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more secrets might come to light...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… here’s a new chapter! As I said, I’ve been dying to write Jim into the story and once I started… well, I couldn’t really stop. I worry a bit about the pace, since it feels a tad rushed but I hope you’ll find it enjoyable!

The moonlight reflects on the water, projecting dancing forms on the walls of the cave. The place is impossibly quiet, no other sound but Sherlock’s slightly elaborated breathing and the too loud pounding of his heart.

There's a man sitting over some rocks at the other side of the pond. He’s smirking confidently, his body language pointing at how much at ease he is. He doesn't seem to be breathing though and that just adds to the sense of impossibility of the scene.

Sherlock looks around, confused of how he got here. He does know where he is, although it's been decades since the last time he came. He was barely a pup then, not even 10 yet, but as usual, his curiosity had gotten the best of him and he had ended up going to explore the place where a bloodless body had been found.

 _A bad omen,_ the Elders had claimed. An obvious sign of the return of their eternal enemies. So they had prepared for another war against vampires and yet-

Nothing had happened. Nothing at all.

The Elders had been all too happy to forget  about the matter entirely and even Mummy, who usually was much more inquisitive, had let the matter go uninvestigated. Sherlock however-

He doesn't recall much of what happened there, though. Mycroft later told him he had hit his head and fainted, but something always felt… _wrong_ about that explanation. But his brother is an expert in keeping things in the dark when he so wishes and so Sherlock hadn't asked again.

And yet-

“Hello, little princeling,” the other man says, a crazed smile on his lips. “Do you remember me?”

Sherlock shakes his head slowly, looking for an escape route. Something tells him he might need it very soon, but he can't help to feel deeply curious about his interlocutor.

“Ah, you wound me, little one!” the man exclaims dramatically, coming to stand up and Sherlock takes a step back instinctively. “Shall I re-introduce myself then?” he questions playfully and in the blink of an eye he's gone, leaving Sherlock bewildered and maybe just a tad scared.

“Jim Moriarty, at your service,” the wizard greets him, appearing right in front of him and bowing low. Sherlock takes yet another step back, unwilling to show his fear, although he knows he must stink of it.

The other male smirks, still exuding confidence. “It's been a long while, Sherlock dear, although I confess I was hoping you'd remember me. You remember how to do this, yes?” he asks playfully and waves his hand, conjuring a ball of fire that dances on his fingertips.

Sherlock feels himself pale, wondering how did the wizard found out about his best hidden secret.

As a general rule, werewolves are wary of magic users, going as far as _disposing_ of the children born with the gift. It's a matter of general safety and the _greater good_ , for magic tends to drive its users mad with power.

In Sherlock’s case, it had been Mycroft the one who had found out. But instead of turning him in, as he should have done, his brother had elected to do what he always did when Sherlock was involved: he had chosen to protect his baby brother and had made his best effort to keep his abilities hidden.

It had worked, for a while, but Sherlock’s powers had kept growing. He remembers being scared of being found out, of finally giving the clan a reason to get rid of him. And then one day-

One day he had stopped accidentally making magic. He had suddenly been in control of it, never again doing anything without conscious thought. And so he had kept his ability well hidden, never again thinking about it.

Until today, of course.

He waves his hand, summoning with ease a dancing flame of his own. The wizard smirks, obviously satisfied.

“You do remember, little Prince,” he whispers, his smile full of something like fondness that makes Sherlock’s stomach to turn unpleasantly. “Good. Very good.”

“What do you want from me?” Sherlock questions, his voice quivering a little bit, despite his best efforts to remain calm.

“Not yet,” Moriarty whispers, a hand lightly caressing the werewolf’s face. “You're not ready to give it to me yet. In fact, you don't have it yet. But soon. Very soon.”

The world turns dark after that and Sherlock knows no more.

* * *

 

News of suspicious activity at the Northwest mountain reach them the following day and Sherlock can't help to feel a bit anxious about last night’s… dream?

He has many questions, but he's fairly certain the only one who can give him answers is the wizard himself.

And it wouldn't be wise to go looking for him, would it?

Still-

«You might want to get dressed,» Mrs. Hudson tells him, peeking into the room. «There's a delegation coming.»

«I doubt my presence will be necessary,» he argues, burying himself deeper into the covers, feeling far too tired to even contemplate moving. Besides, there's really not a good reason for it.

Mrs. Hudson huffs, amused. «The Prince insists you come,» she tells him, entering the room now and pulling the covers away from him.

Sherlock sighs, knowing by now it's useless to try to argue with the woman. He sits up, glaring darkly at the female, who just smiles innocently at him.

Her words finally register then and he frowns, wondering why might John request his presence. Still, he figures it'll be for the best not to keep him waiting and so he hurries into the bathroom, intending to wash himself quickly.

What an odd morning really.

* * *

 

When he finally makes his way into the Throne room, he's quite surprised by the people waiting for him there.

The King and Queen are nowhere in sight, but John is sitting on his Mother's throne, glaring darkly at the person sitting next to him. Mycroft looks perfectly at ease at the King’s throne, smiling amusedly at John’s angry stare.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock demands  rather harshly and his brother sends an amused glance in his direction.

«Speak the human language, brother dear. It's the polite thing to do.»

Sherlock rolls his eyes, «as if you cared about such things.» He comes closer, his eyes sweeping over his brother, trying to read the motives behind his visit. «What are you doing here?» he repeats.

«It’s come to our attention that The Wizard has been spotted one more,» Mycroft says, his tone calm and collected, but Sherlock can't help tensing at the mention of Moriarty. «As you know, the werewolves clans have their own agreement with him, but in the light of our alliance-»

«Wait,» John interrupts. «what do you mean you have your own agreement?»

Mycroft makes a face, displeased by the interruption. «A century or so ago, the clans made a deal with The Wizard in exchange of being left in peace.» John opens his mouth to interrupt once more, but Mycroft carries on promptly. «You really don’t want to know what the deal entailed, Your Highness. Let it just be said that a handsome price was paid, but well- it was well worth it.»

Sherlock bites his lip, keeping himself from expressing his opinion. Werewolves generally believe in doing whatever needs to be done _for the greater good,_ but it usually involves lives being lost.

John looks troubled, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he seems to meditate for a long while about Mycroft’s words. «What do you mean “in light of our alliance”?»

«Isn’t it obvious?» the older werewolf asks, «the Council considers we shouldn’t get involved in the fight, but Mummy thinks that helping our human allies would be expected considering… well...» he gestures between them and Sherlock frowns, not liking his brother’s tone. «The Council however, thinks it would be unwise to get involved, particularly since the alliance is such a… feeble one.»

«What does that mean?» John demands harshly, now frowning darkly and Sherlock answers, before his brother can.

«We haven’t had any children,» he explains, his tone calm, but something dark and bitter beneath. «In the eyes of the Council, our marriage doesn’t really count until we have children.»

Mycroft nods. «While the marriage has been… consummated, it means nothing in the great scheme of things as long as there are no heirs.»

«What?!» John demands. «What exactly does that mean?»

Mycroft shrugs, leaning back on his seat. «Basically, that you shouldn’t expect much help from us.»

«Bullshit!» John exclaims, standing up. «We’re supposed to be allies! How is that we can’t count on you?»

Once more, the werewolf heir shrugs. «As I said, Mummy does believe we should honor the alliance, but the Council is unlikely to back her up and if that’s the case- Of course, you can count on us as family,» he says to Sherlock, his tone apologetic. «But the clan- well. They don’t see a reason to get involved.»

John huffs, indignant and collapses on his seat once more. Mycroft sighs, his eyes still fixed on his brother. «It’s likely we’ll end up having an official meeting rewarding this situation,» he says, «but I wanted to come first and warn you. It seemed- wise, so you might be prepared.»

John is scowling darkly at nothing in particular and Sherlock nods solemnly. He knows his brother is on his side, but there’s very little he can actually do. The Council has, as it always has had, the final word on these matters and what Mummy, as the clan’s leader or Mycroft’s as her heir think, counts ultimately very little.

«So… we’re on our own,» John whispers, looking quite troubled.

«I’m sorry,» Mycroft whispers back, looking truly sorry. «I’ll do what I can to help but- there’s not much I can actually do.»

Sherlock sighs. This just won’t end well.

* * *

 

“I want to ask you something,” Sherlock says, once he and his brother are on their own. They’re standing at one of the gardens, John gone, busy with his princely duties.

“Yes?” Mycroft questions softly, his eyes sweeping over him, evidently looking for whatever clues he might find of what might be wrong.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock assures him, sensing his brother worry. “John’s been- It’s all fine, really.”

Mycroft nods. “I thought as much, but you can’t blame me for worrying,” his brother murmurs gently. “I had the impression that John would be a good mate to you; I’m glad to see I was right.”

Sherlock smiles a bit. “I’m happy. Happier than I was back home.”

His brother nods and they stand in comfortable silence for a few moments, both gathering their thoughts. After a while, Mycroft speaks again, “What was what you wanted to ask?”

Sherlock bites his lip, suddenly nervous. Still, he figures his brother might have enough answers for him to go by, at least for now. “What happened at the cave?”

Mycroft stares at him in silence, a dark cloud passing over his eyes. Still, when he answers, his tone is perfectly nonchalant. “What cave?”

Sherlock huffs, knowing his brother knows exactly what he’s talking about. He glares and tries with a more direct approach. “How do I know Moriarty?”

His brother tenses minusclely; imperceptibly for most, but Sherlock does notice and he can’t help to worry a bit. “What makes you think you know him?”

“Stop that,” Sherlock argues darkly. “Just tell me-”

“There’s nothing to say, Sherlock.”

They stare at each other in silence, both angry although for different reasons. “Alright then,” the younger one murmurs finally. “I won’t ask again.”

Mycroft nods stiffly. “Stay away from The Wizard, Sherlock. And be careful about... the other thing. Your relationship with your husband might be working, but there are limits- and there are secrets that shall remain so.”

Sherlock makes a face, but doesn’t argue.

His brother is right, after all.

* * *

 

He had never given it much thought really, but he should have seen the connection much sooner. It’s been over thirty years since he first stepped into that cave, but he should have realized it was around the same time that he learned to control his magic. The two events had never seemed closely related, but now-

How could he be so blind?

He watches the dancing flames on the palm of his hand, as he considers his options. Mycroft is right, of course; telling John about this ability of his would be stupid. Humans are just as wary of magic users as werewolves are and in the light of the recent events-

It would be more than a tad foolish.

Still, he doesn’t think this… _dream_ of Moriarty should remain a secret. It feels like something important, something that should be acknowledged and dealt with. But what can he tell John and of what use would it be? He doesn’t know yet what The Wizard wants from him and so-

He looks upwards, considering. He waves his hand in a complicated motion and rain starts pouring from the sky. Another wave over his head and he remains perfectly dry despite the heavy rain. He frowns, a tad worried.

He doesn’t remember learning this. More importantly, he hasn’t _practiced_ in decades, shouldn’t his powers be a little… _rusty_ or something? Why can he do this with so much ease, without much actual thought? The motions come to him naturally, no hesitation or doubt. It’s like he has been doing this since forever and yet-

«Sherlock?»

A quick wave of his hand and the rain stops, the sun shining brightly in the sky. Sherlock turns to his husband, who’s standing at the balcony entrance, looking worried. «Yes?»

«That was weird,» John comments, peering at the clear sky. «The rain stopped a little too suddenly, don’t you think?»

Sherlock shrugs, not wanting to drag much attention to the fact. «What’s wrong?»

His husband sighs, running his fingers through his hair. «Nothing, really. I’m just- I’m worried, I guess. Father won’t like your clan’s refusal to help.»

Sherlock nods. He had thought as much, but he knows there’s no point in worrying, since there’s nothing he can do. «What do you think he’ll do?»

John shrugs, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. «He’ll be angry. He might even- I worry he’ll try to- declare the marriage invalid or something.»

Sherlock sighs, leaning into his husband’s embrace. «I fear so.»

«I won’t be leaving you, though» John promises, kissing him on the lips this time. «No one is taking you away from me, no matter what.»

Sherlock wishes he could be as confident.

But he knows the odds aren’t in his favour.

* * *

 

“ _Brother dear_ has a fair point,” Moriarty says, leaning on his seat, looking entirely too comfortable on the King’s Throne. “Without an heir, the marriage counts for little.”

Sherlock glares, crossing his arms. The room is dark, only the pale moonlight preventing the darkness to swallow them both. The Wizard smirks, standing up in one swift motion. “I could help with that, of course.” He comes to stand directly in front of Sherlock, smile crazed. “Would you like that, little princeling?”

Sherlock takes step back, uncomfortable with the other male’s close presence. Moriarty laughs, looking entirely too amused. “Oh, don’t look so scared, little one. I have no interest in you- well, not in that sense.” He places a hand on his forehead and whispers something very quietly. Sherlock can feel his body’s temperature raising and he feels lightheaded and dizzy.

“What- what did you do?”

“Worry not, Sherlock dear,” the wizard tells him in a sing song voice. “Just go to sleep now. Everything will be clearer in the morning.”

And with that, the darkness consumes him once again.

* * *

 

When he wakes up, his body is burning. Sherlock gasps, an odd itch beneath his skin and he finds himself getting out of the bed, suddenly full of energy despite the late hour.

«Sherlock?» John whispers, sitting up, peering at him curiously. «Is there something wrong?»

Yes. No? He paces around the room, much more aware of his surroundings than he ever remembers being. His skin feels tight and he’s so hot all over-

«Oh,» he whispers, finally recognizing the symptoms. They’re much more marked than ever before, but he does know what’s happening to him.

It’s a little too soon for another Heat, though.

He strides back to the bed, his husband still looking at him worriedly. He climbs into John’s lap and kisses him deeply, desire burning inside his veins. He wants- he just wants-

«Oh,» John whispers, sounding a bit breathless. «Isn’t it- a little soon for another Heat?»

Yes it is, but Sherlock can’t bring himself to think much about it. The need to be mated is consuming all his rational thoughts and he cares not for why this might be happening.

Nothing matters but this. To be close to his husband, to have him inside him-

That’s all that matters right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> It ends a bit a abruptly, doesn’t it? But Jim’s next appearance needs for an important conversation to happen and this chapter didn’t seem like the right place for it. Still… well, I don’t know.  
> Things are about to get a bit tricky so… hold onto your seats! And also let me remind you that while I enjoy angst, I always prefer writing happy endings so worry not if next chapter turns a little… dramatic. You’ll see what I mean soon enough ;)  
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dangerous game begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It’s a bit on the short side, but well… it seemed like the best place to end it. Eh… enjoy?

«No,» Sherlock utters with a conviction he doesn't really feel and John smiles sadly at him, caressing his cheek softly.

«I’m afraid I’m not being asked, Sherlock. I’m being ordered-»

«But you're a Prince!» Sherlock interrupts desperately. «Surely… surely it’s too risky to actually send you to the battlefield?»

John sighs tiredly, pulling him into a light embrace. «True, but I’m the spare, Sherlock. Harry is the one who’ll be Queen and so I’m rather- eh- expendable.» He shrugs, his expression sad.

_ Expendable.  _ John is everything but expendable, especially to Sherlock. «Your sister will be a terrible Queen.»

John frowns, although Sherlock knows he secretly agrees with him. Princess Harriet has never taken her duties seriously, always letting John take over them, much too John's displeasure. «Be as it may,» he murmurs softly, pulling away a little, «she's the firstborn.»

Sherlock makes a face, but knows arguing is useless. Even if John didn't want to go, the King has already ordered him to and knowing his husband, he won't settle for staying in the background and let the actual soldiers do the actual fighting.

«I’ll come back to you,» John promises earnestly. «I swear I’ll do.»

How Sherlock wishes he could believe him.

* * *

 

Sherlock stands in front of the full body mirror for the longest time, trying to ascertain if something is indeed different. It doesn’t seem so, his stomach as flat as ever before, his ribs still visible at some parts. Of course, even if he was expecting, it would be far too early for any change to be noticeable but-

_ He knows.  _ Deep down to his very bones, he knows he’s pregnant. It seems so far reached, nearly impossible, completely illogical and yet-

He places a hand over his belly and sighs. It’s too soon to know for sure and he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Especially not now, with his future more uncertain than ever before. To be pregnant could be both a blessing and a curse: it all comes down on whether or not John comes back to him. If he doesn’t- if he doesn’t and Sherlock is indeed expecting, at least he’ll have this last memento from his husband but-

But if that’s the case and John does die in the battlefield, he’ll never be able to go back to his family. It’s unusual for Omegas to go back to their original clans if their Mates die, but it’s not unheard of and they’re usually accepted without much fuss. That however, is not true for any children they may have, who have to stay with their Alpha’s clan, never to see their Omegas’ parents again.

Sherlock couldn’t do that. He'd rather live alone here, with these humans that will never accept him, than leave his pup behind.

Still-

He doesn’t want to imagine a life like that. But then, he doesn’t want to imagine a life without John, really. The human might be 20 years younger than himself, but Sherlock is likely to outlive him by half a century anyway. That’s just nature’s way and there’s nothing he can do to change that, but he’s certainly in no rush to accelerate that process.

He taps his fingers against his chin, thinking. It’s stupid, really, and reckless, but he’s desperate. He knows there’s something from him that Moriarty wants and if he gives it to the wizard… well, then this senseless war will stop, won’t it? Or at least the wizard will leave John’s Kingdom alone. Of course, there are alliances to consider, but surely his father-in-law won’t be opposed to forget about them and think of what’s best for his Kingdom only?

But what does Moriarty  _ want? _ It doesn’t really matter to Sherlock, he’s ready to pay whatever price he might ask for, if it contributes to keep John safe, but-

Well, he’ll just have to ask, won’t he?

* * *

 

Despite the constant rumors of The Wizard’s appearances, things had been rather peaceful. Of course the human kingdoms had been worried and there had been a lot of correspondence being exchanged between allies, but nothing seemed to suggest than an actual war was imminent.

At least not until Princess Irene’s last missive.

Apparently, the Kingdom of Adler had suffered an attack in the middle of the night, killing off most of their Army. The Princess seemed rather desperate for help and despite the way things had gone during the female’s last visit, it’s not like they could deny their help. Which is why the King had decided to send a few tropes, lead by Prince John to survey the damage and to help as much as they could.

Which is very nice and logical in theory, but in practice- the population was beyond worried and the soldiers didn’t fare much better, but everyone agreed that Moriarty needed to be stopped, no matter the cost.

Sherlock watches his husband sleep and ponders over his options. He has no actual way to contact the wizard, although he supposes he could try with a little magic of his own, but he’s wary of using his  _ gift.  _ He doesn’t recall ever learning to use it, but evidence seems to suggest Moriarty was somehow involved in his apprenticeship and that seems reason enough to hesitate. Still-

He presses a kiss against John’s forehead and lies down, running his fingers through his husband’s hair, who hums contently and snuggles closer. It’s a slightly cold night and they’re naked as usual, so Sherlock thinks that pressing himself as closely as possible to his husband is perfectly justified.

And if it gives him a little bit of comfort and makes him feel slightly more brave- well, no one needs to know that.

* * *

 

“Sherlock, darling, I was wondering when you were going to show up!”

Moriarty is sitting at some type of rock formation that resembles strangely of a Throne. There’s a manic glint in his eyes that Sherlock doesn’t care one bit for and he looks entirely too smug for his comfort.

“I was under the impression that you were the one to arrange these meetings,” Sherlock argues calmly, his tone not betraying his inner turmoil.

Moriarty hums, looking amused. “It's very basic magic, Sherlock dear. You could do it quite easily.”

“I don't care for magic.”

“Don't you now?” the wizard asks, a cruel smirk on his lips. “Not even if it could save your  _ precious  _ husband?”

Sherlock tries to remain impassive, but the other male knows he has peeked his interest. Moriarty smirks some more, leaning back on his seat. “Don't be tedious, little Prince. Lying doesn't suit you.”

Sherlock sighs. “What do you want, then? What would it take to make you stop?”

Moriarty hums thoughtfully, his infuriating smirk firmly in place. “A better question would be, what are you willing to do to make me stop?”

“Anything,” Sherlock answers right away and the wizard laughs.

“Careful, little one. Don't go making promises you can't keep.” He disappears, reappearing in the blink of an eye in front of the werewolf. “ _ Anything  _ is a dangerous promise.”

“It's the truth thought,” Sherlock argues confidently and the wizard smirks once more.

“Not yet,” Moriarty replies, his smirk widening. “But soon. Very soon. In the meantime…” he pulls a small golden locket out of his robe and examines it in the moonlight. “I’ve got a little something for you.”

Sherlock eyes the  _ gift  _ warily, wondering if it’d be wise to accept it (or refuse it for that matter). Moriarty laughs merrily, evidently amused. “Oh, come on darling. Take it. This one is… free of charge. A little token of goodwill.”

“Doubtful,” Sherlock protests darkly, prompting more laughter from the wizard. 

“A little proof of my power, then,” Moriarty offers, his smirk firmly in place. “This, with a lock of your hair… and your John will come back to you.”

“Why should I trust you?” the werewolf questions, but he has already reached for the locket. He knows the wizard isn’t to be trusted, but he’s too desperate. Anything that improves John’s chances of surviving-

“What choice do you have?” Moriarty asks placidly, with a small shrug. 

Sherlock glares.

He doesn’t have another choice, though.

* * *

 

John and the small regiment are meant to leave in a couple of days and Sherlock can’t help to feel terribly anxious. As expected, when his clan was asked for help, they  _ politely  _ refused, but the King didn’t have enough presence of mind to care much. He’s angry and disappointed for sure and eventually the clan’s refusal will cost Sherlock dearly, but for now-

For now none of that matters. 

He contemplates Moriarty’s locket and wonders, not for the first time, if he ought to give it to John. It might not work, the wizard might be lying, but if there’s the slightest chance he’s being honest-

Shouldn’t he take the risk?

It’s a dangerous game and if John knew he’s playing it, he’d be most displeased. But the potential wins outweigh the dangers, or at least they do in Sherlock’s mind and so he’s willing to pay the price.

He did say  _ anything,  _ didn’t he?

* * *

 

“It’s very simple, really.” Moriarty informs him pleasantly, not turning to face him, his whole attention on the map lying on top of the table. “You either give John the locket and he comes back or you don’t and he’ll die.” He shrugs non committedly. “Either way works for me; it doesn’t really matter what you choose.”

“Why give me this, then?” Sherlock questions softly, nervous and perhaps a tad scared. “What’s the point?”

Moriarty shrugs, but there’s something sad and defeated in his countenance. “Everyone dies in the end,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “But believe it or not, I do like you, Sherlock. And I’m not completely heartless.” He considers this for a beat, and then laughs mirthlessly. “Well, no. I am. I just- it’s all a bit of fun, honestly.”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, lost deep in his thoughts.

There’s really nothing left to say, is there?

* * *

 

John accepts the locket, although he looks a bit wary. He doesn’t ask questions though and Sherlock tries not to look too guilty, telling himself for the millionth time that it’s for the best.

Whatever game Moriarty is playing, he has to play along.

Anything for John’s sake, really.

* * *

 

Mycroft arrives a day before John is scheduled to leave. Surprised as he is by his brother’s sudden appearance, he can’t help to feel a bit relieved when the older werewolf reveals the reason for his presence: Mummy has decided that while the Council refuses to help, she will honour their alliance and so she’ll be sending her oldest son to fight along with their human allies.

Mycroft doesn’t particularly care for fighting and at a first glance no one would consider him very threatening, but when he's pressed, he’s very skilled at battle.

Still, while it does make him feel better to know his brother will be at his husband’s side, it’s not terribly reassuring.

He would rather have this battle not happening at all.

But that’s not the way the game is played, is it?

* * *

 

The morning the regiment is scheduled to leave, turns out to be a particularly cold one. Sherlock hugs his husband close, unseeing the curious glances they’re receiving both from the Royal Family and the soldiers. Nothing matters right now but John’s arms around him. He doesn’t want to let go, not ever, but-

«I need to leave,» John whispers softly, pressing one last kiss against his cheek. «I’ll be back, I swear.»

«You’d better,» Sherlock whispers back, tightening his grip around him. «I don't-» he bites his lip, telling himself not to cry. That wouldn't be advisable, would it?

«Hey,» John murmurs, caressing his cheek gently. «Don't worry. I’ll be fine»

Sherlock nods and John moves on to say goodbye to his family. The werewolf takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

“Sentiment, brother dear?”

Sherlock scoffs, glaring at his brother. Mycroft smiles sadly, patting his shoulder. “I’ll bring your husband back, even if that's the last thing I do.”

Sherlock smiles tightly. “Try not to die. That would upset Mummy and I refuse to deal with that.”

Mycroft offers him a rueful smile. “I’ll try my best.”

It'll have to do.

* * *

 

Sherlock watches anxiously as the soldiers leave, his heart hammering painfully inside his chest. It’s entirely likely most of them won’t come back, particularly seeing how ineffective the previous attacks from their allies against the dark wizard have turned out to be but-

«It should be me,» Princess Harriet tells him softly, watching the small dot that is her brother disappearing into the horizon. «John is- He’d be a better King,» she murmurs, biting her lip viciously. «And he has so much more to lose than myself.»

Sherlock closes his eyes and tells himself not to voice his real thoughts. He doesn’t care for his sister-in-law, the Princess always behaving cool and aloof, but he knows that tremulous as the relationship between the siblings might be, John cares for his sister and wouldn’t want Sherlock to upset her further.

«It’ll be fine,» he says, with a conviction he doesn’t truly feel. «He’ll come back soon enough.»

He needs to believe John will come back to him.

Because if he doesn’t- then what?

* * *

 

A letter comes a week later.

The battle was lost.

There were no survivors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?   
> Let it be said that evil as I might be, I’m not nearly evil enough to not warn about Major Character Death from the beginning. That being said… well. I don’t really know what else to say ;)  
> I don’t write unhappy endings, not really. Sometimes the story runs away from me, but I always try for at least a hopeful one, so worry not! (or not much!)  
> Anyway, let me know what you thought, pretty please? And if something isn’t making much sense… let me know. There’s a lot of worldbuilding involved in this particular fic and so I drop bits and pieces here and there, but I tend to forget what I’ve actually written and what I’ve only thought about, so sometimes things might be confusing :P   
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It’s a bit on the short side (super short side, actually!) but well… it didn’t feel right to keep on going… it felt like a good place to end it ;)  
> Enjoy?

The floor in entirely too cold and uncomfortable, but Sherlock can’t bring himself to stand up. Kneeling feels like too much of an effort in fact, so he simply lets himself slide down, coming to lie entirely on the unforgivingly hard floor.

It doesn’t matter, though. He’s cold and if he’s not careful, he’ll get sick, but it matters not. He feels nothing but the hollowness in his chest. It has been like this for the last past week, ever since that fatidic letter came.

He sits up immediately, as another wave of nausea comes over him. After emptying his stomach for what feels like the hundredth time (and shouldn’t that be impossible? He has barely eaten, surely there’s nothing left in his stomach for him to throw up), he wills himself to get up and go back to the bedroom.

He collapses on the bed once more and buries his face on what used to be his husband’s pillow. It has long stopped smelling of John, but he had actually growled at Mrs. Hudson when she had tried to take it to wash the cover. It’s ridiculous and sentimental, but he can’t help himself.

Not for the first time, he considers smothering himself with it and put an end to his misery. But of course he won’t, if only because he has someone else to think of now. He’s not entirely certain he wants to have this baby and in fact he’s fairly certain it’s a bad idea to carry on with the pregnancy but-

It’s all he has left of John. Can anyone blame him for holding onto it?

* * *

 

He doesn’t recall having fallen asleep, but he must have for the next time he opens his eyes, the night has fallen outside. He rolls onto his side, rubbing a hand sleepily over his eyelids. His body feels heavy, weakened by the lack of food. It’s not good for him and not safe for the baby, but the mere idea of food- it makes him want to throw up again.

There’s someone with him and he’s not surprised when he turns his head a little and finds Molly sitting at the edge of the bed, looking terribly concerned and carrying a small tray with toast. She tries to smile, but fails miserably and so she passes him the tray wordlessly, her eyes expressing what she can’t bring herself to voice.

Sherlock doesn’t want her pity (or anyone’s, really) but he’s thankful for the small gesture. It won’t be long now, he thinks, before things get really ugly with his in-laws. For now, the King and Queen are busy grieving their son, but sooner or later-

And what will he do then?

He could go back to his clan and in fact, that would be the expected thing: with Mycroft… _gone,_ Sherlock is now the only heir. Under normal circumstances, the leadership of the clan would go to the next unmarried child, but since there was only the two of them… it’s complicated, for sure. Technically, Mummy could simply agree to name her heir whoever the Council choose, but he knows his mother and he knows that while she might not be as young and hale as she once was, she’s still a skilled fighter and will fight for her right to keep her blood as the clan’s rightful leaders.

Unwise and probably inadvisable, but it won’t matter.

Which brings another set of uncomfortable considerations. Werewolves mate for life, but it’s not completely unheard of for them to take another partner if the first one dies. And with John gone and Sherlock becoming the rightful heir-

Well. That might be incentive enough for any suitor to overlook his least pleasant… qualities.

But even if he didn’t mind that, even if he was desperate and lonely enough to go back to his family and accept such match-

They won’t take him back while he has a pup inside him. And he won’t be terminating the pregnancy, nor will he leave his pup behind after the birth and so-

What’s left for him?

He could run, he supposes. Or he could stay and risk his in-law’s ill treatment, in the hopes that at least the King won’t be cruel to his baby. In the hopes that his baby will be loved and cherished by John’s family, even if they have nothing but cruelty for him.

Not a very tempting prospect.

“You need to eat,” Molly whispers softly. “It’s not good for the baby.” When Sherlock arches an eyebrow questioningly, she huffs. “I can smell it, you know? I might just be a half breed, but my nose is keen enough.”

Sherlock nods, eying the female thoughtfully. Half breeds are usually treated poorly and he supposes his child won’t be exception. If John- if John was here, he wouldn’t be worried, not at all, but things being what they are-

Well. It’s only logical to be, isn’t it?

“Eat something,” Molly urges him once more, before standing up and heading towards the door. “You’re going to need your energy for the days to come.”

Sherlock sighs, knowing she’s right, but feeling too tired to care.

Life is just going to get harder and harder.

* * *

 

“You know, the girl is right,” Moriarty comments off handedly, his back at him as he inspects the contents of the bookcase. “The whole not eating thing- It’s not good for the baby.”

Sherlock doesn’t even have the energy to glare at him, so he continues lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. The wizard tuts, making his way to the bed and plopping himself on the empty side. Sherlock growls at this, not wanting the wizard’s scent mixing with John’s, even if he doesn’t think that’s possible, considering this is- sort of- a dream.

“No, I mean it, Sherlock,” Moriarty carries on, completely unperturbed. “You need to eat.”

“Why would you care?” the werewolf argues darkly. “You lied to me.”

“Did I?” the other male questions innocently, tapping his fingers against his chin. “No, I don’t think so. I said your husband would come back to you- I never said that he’d do it in one piece.”

A gruesome imagine of _pieces_ of John being brought back in a box makes its appearance into Sherlock’s mind and he shudders. Moriarty has the gall to laugh and so the werewolf growls, attempting to attack the other, only to find himself frozen on the spot.

The wizard tuts once more, shaking his head. “Easy now, little pup. No need to get so upset.” He smiles brightly, standing up once again, unbothered by Sherlock’s growls. “I’m a man of my word, Sherlock. If I say something- then it’s true enough.” He smiles some more, letting out a half mad giggle. “You’ll see. For now though, I’m afraid I must leave you. Lots of things to do! Battles to plan, wars to win, tributes to demand! You understand, surely.”

“What do you want from me?” Sherlock spats angrily and the wizard turns to reward him thoughtfully.

“Not yet. Do not despair, little one! You’ll find out soon enough!”

And with that he’s gone, leaving a frustrated and still very much upset werewolf behind.

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Hudson is the one who “bullies" him into a regular eating schedule. How she found out about the baby is a bit of a mystery, but the woman seems to always know what's happening inside the Castle, so it's not terribly surprising. Thankfully, she keeps the information to herself and Sherlock is grateful, for he’s not quite ready to share the news with his in-laws.

He sits at his desk (well, John's desk except that it's not his anymore, is it?) and ponders about his next move. He’s been thinking about whether or not it would be advisable to write a letter to Mummy to tell her the news. He hasn't really allowed himself to think much about his brother, something like guilt threatening to overwhelm him whenever the idea surfaces and while Mummy might suspect what happened- he should say something. He should probably write to Mycroft’s intended to, shouldn't he? It's only- polite. The whole situation is his fault, isn't it? Mycroft has (had?) always been so protective of him and while he had said it was Mummy’s idea- Sherlock knows better.

But writing it down- it somehow feels like giving up hope and while the situation is hopeless, while he knows things are what they are-

It just feels too final. And he's too scared.

Next week, perhaps. Soon, definitely.

Just not yet.

* * *

 

«Sherlock,» he grunts, refusing to open his eyes just yet. It's still the middle of the night, he can tell and whatever Princess Harriet wants can certainly wait until the morning. He hasn't spoken to the female since that morning John left and he's in no rush to talk to her again, actually-

«Sherlock!» she repeats urgently, shaking him by the shoulder. «Wake up!»

He grunts once more, growing annoyed. The Princess hesitates, but ultimately attempts to shake him awake once more. «Come on, wake up,» she urges him. «It's John.»

Another grunt, although a slightly less annoyed one. Still half asleep, he senses there’s something wrong with that sentence, but his worry for his husband overrules other considerations and so he struggles to wake up. «What?» he murmurs sleepily, sitting up.

«John,» Harry repeats, looking anxious and yet hopeful. «He’s alive.»

It takes a few seconds for the words to make any sense, but Sherlock is out of bed and out of the room before the female can even utter another word. He has questions, hundreds of them, but they can all wait for later.

For now, there’s only one thought running inside his head.

_John is alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> Originally, we weren’t going to find out John was alive in this chapter (I mean, you probably knew that already, but well…) but I figured it worked better like this. It gives me a better place to start the next chapter, in any case.  
> But I’m aware it’s very short. Still, we’re getting into the good part (or so I think!) so next chapter… well, I hope it’ll make up for it. Even if… well, you’ll see ;)  
> Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Survival has a price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I wasn’t going to update just yet but well… my daughter fall asleep rather early and my husband is watching a movie I have no interest in so… writing time for me! :P  
> Enjoy?

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? A husband you should actually be fussing over?”

Sherlock huffs, forcing himself to stop his anxious pacing. Mycroft rolls his eyes and attempts to rearrange himself, but quickly abandons such endeavour when it becomes clear it’s inadvisable to try it on his own. Sherlock stares at him in silence and the older male sighs, nodding once and so accepting his brother’s help.

“They won’t let me in,” Sherlock whispers, once he has made sure Mycroft is in a comfortable enough position. “According to the doctor, it would be _unwise to disturb him._ He needs to rest.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “His only coherent thought through all our trip back here was you and they think you would disturb him?” He huffs, obviously annoyed. “ _Humans._ ” He adds disdainfully and Sherlock nods in agreement.

Of course John is _human,_ but he’s a very special human, so he doesn’t count.

“You haven’t sneaked in, though.” His brother points out after a while and Sherlock sighs. “Why?”

The younger male bites his lip gently. “I’m- I’m a little worried.”

“Worried about what?” Mycroft demands. “That they’re right?” Sherlock shrugs non committedly and his brother rolls his eyes once more. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ve spent much time with humans.”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock agrees. “But in any case, it wouldn’t do to upset my in-laws at this point. Better to follow the rules-”

“You do know that if John doesn’t- doesn’t make it, you’re coming back home with me, right?”

Sherlock makes a face; finding it quite frustrating just how well his brother can still read him and his concerns. “Is your nose ruined?” he argues darkly. “I can’t go back.”

“If you think a stupid and ancient rule is going to keep my brother and nephew living with _humans_ that will do nothing but mistreat them, you don’t know me very well, brother mine.”

His tone is deadly serious and Sherlock doesn’t want to think much about that. He knows his brother loves him dearly and would do anything for him; he did keep his promise after all, dangerous as it might have been for his own health. Still, there are things beyond control, whether or not he wants to acknowledge it. “You should rest,” he whispers softly, settling himself on one of the chairs next to the bed.

“I mean it, Sherlock.” Mycroft says earnestly and he just nods in acknowledgment.

There’s no need to worry about that just yet.

With any luck, there’ll be no need at all.

* * *

 

Mycroft’s left side is almost completely purple with bruises and it must have hurt like hell not only to walk, but to carry John like that, especially since the Prince was either completely unconscious or delirious and so he was no help at all.

Sherlock will be forever thankful for his brother’s service, although he knows neither of them will ever acknowledge it outloud.

John’s injuries are diverse and life-threatening. According to Mycroft’s account, the Prince got stuck by an arrow on the shoulder and that made them stop for a bit, which is what ended up saving their lives. A big explosion took place close to where they were resting and they got buried by the rubble. That’s the source of his brother’s bruising and the reason why there were no survivors reported. It took Mycroft a couple of days to get them out of the wreckage and by then there was no one in sight, so he had had to carry his brother-in-law on his own, all the way back to the Castle.

By then, John’s wound had gotten infected. The fever has been impossible to control and he’s been unconscious most of the time, which, according to the doctors, is actually a blessing, for the pain would be unbearable otherwise. Something went through the Prince’s leg, although they have been incapable of identifying what and that wound is festering, so it’s likely it was poisoned in some way.

The odds aren’t very good, to be completely honest.

And yet, Sherlock can’t help to feel hopeful. A couple of days ago he was certain his husband was dead and now-

Now at least there’s a chance he’ll live.

It’s good enough for him.

* * *

 

“I told you,” Moriarty says in his sing song voice that grates on Sherlock’s nerves. “He did come back to you, didn’t he?”

He did.

But that locket wasn’t free at all, was it?

* * *

 

Mycroft has been too quiet all the way through morning and Sherlock knows that’s not a good thing. Still, he hasn’t said anything, hoping against hope that his brother is merely tired and attempting to rest despite his injuries.

“I have to ask,” his brother says finally, once a maid has taken the tray with a half eaten lunch away. “What have you done, Sherlock?”

“Whatever you mean?” the younger werewolf asks, attempting to sound completely oblivious, but knowing his brother knows him too well to be fooled by his pretended innocence.

“What have I always told you, Sherlock? Coincidences do not exist, for the universe is rarely so lazy. And if that’s the case, the fact that John and I are the only survivors of a frankly terrifying battle- that’s no coincidence.”

It is a bit, the younger male thinks. Moriarty only promised John’s return, after all. Still, he keeps quiet.

Mycroft sighs. “You shouldn’t go making deals with the devil, brother mine,” he says softly. “It’s most unwise.”

“You would know about that,” Sherlock spats back. “What exactly did you promise Moriarty in exchange for teaching me to control my powers?”

For a beat, neither of them moves, both holding each other’s stare stubbornly. Finally, Mycroft looks away, a look of deep sadness in his eyes. “There’s no price I’m not willing to pay for your wellbeing, brother.”

“I’m aware,” the younger one replies. “But then you ought not to question my motivations.”

Mycroft nods in acknowledgment, suddenly looking even more tired. “What are you going to tell John?” he asks after a while, still not looking at him. “He’s smart enough: he’ll put two and two together eventually.”

Sherlock bites his lip, unsure. He has thought about that and he frankly doesn’t like the possibilities. “It might not matter by then.”

Mycroft chuckles humorlessly at that. “Is that so? And what makes you think so?” he narrows his eyes at him, somehow managing to make a grab for his brother and pulling him closer. “Don’t be foolish, Sherlock. You can’t outsmart The Wizard. You might think you have and he’ll be happy enough to let you believe so, but trust me on this: you can’t beat him on his game.”

“I have to try,” Sherlock utters with conviction. “Don’t you see it? There’s no other way; I don’t have an actual _choice_. If I’m playing- then I have to play to win.”

Mycroft makes a face, but doesn’t say another word.

He knows he’s right, after all.

* * *

 

“Your brother is right,” Moriarty points out playfully, smiling like the madman he is. “You can’t win this game.”

“Should I give up, then?”

The wizard offers him a bright smile. “That would be most out of character, don’t you think?” he laughs, throwing his head back. “Admit it, little one: you might be worried and even a tad scared, but you’re loving the game as much as I am.”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, Sherlock, you wound me!” the other male exclaims dramatically, before smirking madly. “You and I- we’re much too alike for you to fool me.”

Sherlock bites his lip, unsure of how to answer that. “I’m going to win this.”

Moriarty’s smirk only widens. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

* * *

 

He gets woken up by someone shaking him by the shoulder. He cracks an eye open, glaring at whoever dares to wake him up and finds himself staring at his sister-in-law, who is looking a tad sheepish, but decided.

He sits up, curious by the Princess’ presence. Last time she ventured into his chambers, she came to tell him his husband lived still. He can’t help to feel worried now, for what is she doing here?

The Princess places a finger against her lips, signaling for him to keep quiet and follow her. Sherlock obeys, curious and concerned and soon enough they’re climbing out his window, careful where they step on.

Once upon a time, there might have been a sort of cornice wide enough for someone to walk over it, but nowadays there are missing parts along the way and any wrong step…

They finally make it to another window and Harriet climbs back in. Sherlock takes a second to be surprised by the Princess’ agility and then quickly slides in too, trying not to make any noise.

The room is dark, but he recognizes the figure lying on the bed right away. John looks quite a fright, with his body completely covered by large bluish bruises, not to mention the fearsome still open wound on his shoulder. It’ll scar badly, he can tell, but of course none of that matters.

He hurries towards the bed, coming to kneel next to it and grabbing John’s hand. The Prince makes a soft noise, but otherwise remains perfectly still, apparently deep asleep. Sherlock presses a kiss against the top of his husband’s hand, tears already running down his cheeks, feeling overwhelmed but so very thankful.

He turns to Harriet, who is standing in perfect silence by the window. She offers him a stiff smile and a nod, before once more slipping outside the window. Sherlock worries for a beat about her safety, for he doubts it’s particularly wise to do that, but he quickly turns his attention back to the man lying on the bed.

He had barely gotten a glimpse of John when they had brought him into the Castle, the doctors quickly ushering him out of the room so they could begin assessing his wounds. He had growled and had been quite close to attack them, every instinct in his body urging him to protect his mate, but Mycroft had managed to drag him away, assuring him John was going to be alright and that it was better to let doctors handle things for the moment.

He had seen the logic in the older male’s argument and complied, turning to fuss over his brother instead. Mycroft was certainly badly bruised, but the blood covering him wasn’t his and there were no open wounds that could get infected to worry about. It had eased his worries a little, thinking maybe John wasn’t as badly hurt as he had originally thought.

After Mycroft had told him what had happened, he hadn’t been so sure. And so he had demanded to see his husband, only to be turned away by his father-in-law. He had tried to argue and bully his way into John’s chambers, but had promptly realized how foolish that might have been. His relationship with his in-laws was far from ideal and it would be terribly stupid to make it worse.

Still-

He takes a deep breath, trying to get himself back under control. John is alive and that’s all that matters, even if his current state looks frightful. He’s here now and that’s-

That’s good, isn’t it?

* * *

 

He wakes up to the sound of someone else in the bedroom. For a second he freezes, worried of what might happen now, but the Queen does nothing but offer him a small smile, full of pity. Sherlock doesn’t appreciate it, but he supposes it’s better than an hostile glare.

«The doctors have finally gotten the fever under control,» the female tells him gently, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and Sherlock has to force back a snarl. He’s feeling terribly protective and he doesn’t like the idea of anyone getting too close to his mate, even if- «He should be fine now.»

Sherlock nods tightly, grabbing John’s hand once more. The Queen observes him for a beat, a sad smile on her lips. «I think it’ll be alright for you to move back into these rooms, although you ought to be careful not to jostle his wounds.» She offers him another smile, this one slightly less pitiful. «He’s been asking after you, after all.»

And yet they kept him away. He’s fairly certain that had Princess Harriet not intervened-

Well. Better not to think about that. It’ll only make him feel bitter.

* * *

 

«Hey.»

Sherlock beams brightly at his husband and John attempts to smile too, although he’s obviously in pain. «Hello,» the werewolf greets softly, squeezing his husband’s hand and the blond’s smile widens.

«I’ve missed you,» John whispers softly, running a hand through Sherlock’s curls but quickly dropping it when it becomes too much of an effort. «I didn’t think I would see you again.»

Sherlock closes his eyes, telling himself not to cry. John is fine and that’s all that matters, really. «Neither did I.»

«I promised though, didn’t I? I said I’d come back to you.»

«You did,» Sherlock agrees, kissing the top of his hand almost reverently. «And you came back.»

«Not in one piece, though,» John says with an humorless chuckle and Sherlock can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine, Moriarty’s words resonating inside his head. «But well- I guess this is good enough?»

«More than enough,» Sherlock assures him earnestly. «I don’t- I wasn’t sure what I was going to do without you.»

«Well, no need to worry about that anymore,» the Prince tells him with a small smile. «I’m back and I’m not leaving you ever again.»

Hopefully, that’ll be the case.

And yet, Sherlock can’t help to worry.

* * *

 

Moriarty’s stare makes his skin crawl, but he holds it steadily, telling himself he can take whatever the wizard throws in his direction.

“And now it’s time,” the man tells him, with a mad smile.

Time for what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> Nothing much happens in this chapter and I was going to write a little bit more, at least until we found out about Jim’s intentions but well… it seemed like this worked better (you know by now how I LOVE being dramatic) Also, I wanted to ask for your opinions because… well, I’m a little lost. I might be overthinking, but I tend to do that.  
> See; I’m a little concerned John might come across as a bit too passive, but considering he’s recovering from some life threatening wounds… I really don’t think I should have him running after Sherlock but well… no one can convince me John wouldn’t do anything within his power to keep Sherlock safe, even if it meant risking his own life so… I’m not sure.  
> And then there’s Sherlock who… well, I believe he would do anything to keep John safe, but does that hold true given his present circumstances (and yes, I mean the baby)? I’m inclined to think yes, but well… I’m also a mother and I really don’t imagine a situation where I would be willing to risk my daughter for my husband, but maybe that’s just me? Am I overthinking it? I mean, it’ll work out in the end but…  
> And last but not least… not sure how much I should get Mycroft involved in the story’s resolution. I have an idea of what to do with him… I’m just not sure if I’m happy with it…  
> Anyway… let me know what you think? I’m not sure when next update will be up because while I have most of the next chapter already written, it feels a little too rough and since I’m visiting my in-laws during the weekend and starting my new job on monday, I’m not sure when I’ll have access to a computer again ;)  
> BTW, good vibes for the new job are greatly appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deals are made.  
> Peace is entirely too costly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I almost despaired yesterday, since my computer was being stubborn and wasn’t letting me log in on google drive, but well… here I am! I’m happy to report I’m back at working, so updates should be… a bit steadier. Not much, because apparently I’m actually expected to work here (shocking, I know!) so… well.  
> Many of you already knew where this is heading, but well… I rather liked how this chapter worked out. I’m not super convinced it sounds right but I guess we’ll see ;)  
> Enjoy!

Sherlock watches John sleep, a small content smile on his lips.  So far things have been quite calm, but the peace won't last much longer; in fact there's a meeting scheduled for the next morning to discuss Moriarty’s attacks. John is unlikely to be attending since he can barely stand though, and so…

The funny thing is that Sherlock has been invited to attend. Politely in fact, although he can tell he's not actually allowed to say “no”. Still, he supposes it's- nice to be considered.

He rolls onto his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling now. He rests a hand over his stomach, tapping it gently. It hasn't swollen one bit, but he supposes it's to be expected with how little care he has been taking of himself. Now things are different, of course and he's actually eating better, but it's probably still too early for it to show.

He hasn't told John, although he's not sure why. He reasons with himself that there's still a chance he’ll miscarriage, a very high chance actually, all things considered.

But that's not really the reason, is it?

He thinks of his last conversation with Moriarty and he tells himself not to worry, but it's a futile effort. He doesn't know what the wizard is planning, but it doesn't bode well for the future.

But he’ll find soon enough, won’t he?

* * *

 

The meeting isn’t going well, the tension high in the room. Sherlock supposes it’s normal, seeing every noble is more than a little concerned with the upcoming news of Moriarty’s army attacks. It’s an unwinnable war, so they’re more than a tad desperate, but there’s nothing to be done, really.

The wizard will take whatever he wants and he won’t stop until then.

But it doesn’t mean they can simply give up. Although most Kingdoms lost many soldiers during the last battle, they mostly agree they need to send another battalion. Still, the prospects are dark and so-

«You could do that,» a voice agrees, after the last general finishes explaining their latest strategy. «Not that it’ll work, but you’re welcome to try.» Moriarty sits at the King’s throne, his mad smile firmly in place. «Or you could simply give me what I want.»

The gathered nobility turns to face the wizard, all of them looking more than a bit afraid. Sherlock straightens himself, willing himself to look calm and self assured and the wizard sends an amused smile in his direction, before standing up.

«And what would that be?» The King questions calmly, looking completely unbothered and despite Sherlock’s- _complicated_ relationship with his in-law, he can’t help to admire his nerve.

Moriarty’s smile widens as he steps closer to the gathered crowd. He approaches the King, his steps light and looking entirely too pleased with himself. «What would you be willing to give in exchange for your Kingdom’s well being, your Majesty?»

«Anything,» the monarch replies easily and Moriarty laughs, throwing his head back.

«A most dangerous promise, your Majesty. Lucky for you, I want a very simple thing,» he’s standing in front of Sherlock and the whole room seems to be holding their breath. The werewolf holds the wizards stare evenly, willing himself to keep breathing calmly. «A very simple, easy, _small_ thing.»

A quick glance in his father-in-law’s direction and Sherlock knows it’s not really a brainer. If the wizard asks for him, in whatever form, the King will agree. Not that Sherlock isn’t inclined to agree too, if that’s what it takes to make sure John won’t get involved into another war ever again.

Moriarty tuts, looking amused. «Oh little Prince, don’t be silly; if I wanted you, I would have had you already.» He steps impossibly closer, so their chests are almost touching. «No, I want something more- _precious._ » He places a hand over Sherlock’s abdomen and the werewolf gasps, surprised, because _how could he miss this?_ «I want this.»

The room is eerily quiet, no sound but their collective breathing filling it. «And if we refuse?» the King asks after a beat and Sherlock turns to look at the older male, surprised. Moriarty smirks, pulling away a little.

«How quickly you change your mind, your Majesty» the wizard chastises him playfully. «You’re really not losing anything at all- it’s not like your son and his little pet husband can’t give you another grandchild.»

Another tense silence and the King seems quite unwilling to answer, although the wizard’s words ring true. Sherlock clenches his fists, but he knows he’s powerless to stop this transaction if the King agrees.

Although-

«Well, I suppose I can give you time to think about it.» Moriarty says after a beat, still smiling, obviously undeterred by the silence. «Til the next full moon, I should think. Sounds like a reasonable time frame to me.»

He turns around dramatically, intending to leave in a similar fashion. Still, he stops mid motion, so he doesn’t disappear right away. «Make no mistake, though. If you don’t agree to my terms- well, you won’t need to concern yourself with the lack of an heir, since there won’t be any Kingdom left to rule.» He laughs madly, entirely too pleased with himself. «Ciao!» he exclaims merrily, before disappearing in a cloud of smoke, his odious laughter still audible for a while later.

The whole room turns to look at Sherlock then and the werewolf bites his lip nervously.

Now what?

* * *

 

«Absolutely not,» John informs everyone sternly, once his father tells him of Moriarty’s little _visit._ He’s still bed ridden and although he’s healing well, he’s been advised not to push himself too much.

Sherlock keeps his eyes fixed on his lap, unwilling to get involved in this discussion. It’s not his place to intervene, or at least that’s what he’s been told, never mind that it concerns the child growing inside him. However, it wouldn’t be wise to upset his father-in-law further, so he guesses he can keep quiet.

At least for now.

«John-» the King begins, sounding tired already and Sherlock can’t help to feel a little sympathy for him. He wants to do what’s best for his Kingdom no doubt, but well- it’s a difficult situation.

«How can you even think about it?» the Prince demands. «This is my child we’re talking about-»

«The wizard is right, though» the Queen intervenes reasonably. «You could always have more. As long as there’s still-»

«How can you say that?!» John exclaims, attempting to sit up and promptly giving up when the pain becomes too unbearable. «It’s not- we’re not talking about- I don’t know- lands or cattle. We’re talking about an actual human being-»

«A half breed,» the King scoffs. «Really, John-»

«Don’t you fucking dare!» the blond yells, attempting once more to sit up and Sherlock decides to help, if only to stop him from injuring himself further. «You shouldn’t have agreed to the marriage if you were going to be like this!»

«Yes, I really shouldn’t have, but it’s too late for that!» the King snaps angrily. «I can’t change the past, but the future-»

«So what? You’ll sacrifice my baby- _your grandchild-_ for the sake of- »

«For the sake of the Kingdom, John! Yes, yes I will! I don’t even know why it’s up for discussion, I should have just agreed on the spot!» the older man exclaims, clearly exasperated, turning to glare at the Queen. «It was your idea to tell him, you deal with his outburst now!» and with that he’s gone, slamming the door on his way out. John huffs indignantly and the Queen sighs defeatedly.

«John-»

«If you’re going to take his side, you should just leave right now,» the Prince utters darkly. «You’re not changing my mind.»

The female sighs, running her fingers through her hair, messing it up. «We’re just trying to do what’s best,» she murmurs softly and John scoffs. The woman stands up and turns to Sherlock on her way out. «Talk to him, would you?» she tells him gently, before leaving the room too.

Sherlock stares at her, a frown on his face. What are they expecting, really? That he’ll convince John to give up their baby?

Not a chance in hell.

«God, this is awful,» John says, lying down once more and Sherlock hums in agreement. «What do you think?»

The werewolf bites his lip, thoughtful. No matter what, the decision is out of his hands, really, but- «I think there’s no way out.»

John sighs, for he knows he’s right. «You don't seem very surprised,» he comments, almost off handedly, but Sherlock knows better. He hums questioningly and John huffs once more. «Well, I’ve just found out I’m going to be a father because a mad wizard is asking for my child in payment, but something tells me you already knew about the baby.»

Ah, that. «Yes, I did.»

John looks at him expectantly and Sherlock sighs. «It just didn't seem like the right time to tell you; first you were leaving for a battle and then you were recovering from your injuries...»

«And you didn't think I might have wanted to hear some good news to cheer me up?»

«It's hardly reason of celebration,» Sherlock scoffs, looking away. «It’s still too early- There's a chance I’ll miscarriage-»

«God Sherlock, can't you-?» he bites his lip harshly, looking away. «I don't want to argue with you right now.»

«Neither do I,» the werewolf murmurs softly, placing a hand over his husband’s. «I’m sorry, though.»

«It doesn't matter, I guess. Just- what are we going to do now?»

«There's nothing to-»

«We’re not handing our baby as- as a bloody sacrifice! How- how can my parents even think-?»

Sherlock sighs. «It's the logical-»

«Not you too!»

«It's the logical and practical solution,» Sherlock interrupts sternly. «It doesn't mean I agree with it.» He adds softly, tracing circles over John's knuckles. «I don't know what we can do.»

«Run away, if it all comes down to it,» John murmurs softly and Sherlock sighs, shaking his head sadly.

They both know that's not really an option.

There's nowhere they could run where they wouldn't be found, after all.

* * *

 

“Make no mistake, Sherlock dear.” Moriarty tells him that night, leaning close to him, his mad smile making the werewolf shiver. “I’ll get that baby either way. But if I get my way- you and your precious husband get to live and you get to have a bunch of children afterwards. And if I don’t-” he pulls him close, so he’s whispering his last words against his ear. “I’ll handle your husband personally. And you’ll wish he had died at the battle, for there are no words to describe what will happen to him then.”

* * *

 

“So, what are you going to do?”

Sherlock rewards his brother carefully, thinking of how much of his inner turmoil he’s willing to reveal. It’s true that Mycroft has always taken care of him, but they’re not really the talkative-supportive kind, mostly letting a lot of things go unspoken between them.

“I don’t know,” he reveals softly, a hand rubbing his abdomen absentmindedly. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? It’ll prevent any unnecessary bloodshed and we’ll- we’ll be safe. And as everyone has pointed out, I can always have more children.”

“In theory,” Mycroft replies easily. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You don’t want to give the pup up.”

“Why does he want it anyway?!” Sherlock demands frustratedly, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t- If only-”

“Do not lie to yourself, little brother.” Mycroft interrupts calmly, “even if you knew your child would be perfectly fine under The Wizard’s care, you wouldn’t want to hand him over.”

Sherlock bites his lip. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t. But- but I suppose it’d ease my mind a little-”

“He seems to have a thing for firstborns,” the older male comments off handedly, “that’s what he usually asks for.” He smiles a bit sadly, his gaze lost in the horizon.

“Is that what he asked from you?”

“Are we really going to discuss this again?”

“Mycroft-!”

“As I’ve said before,” his brother interrupts him sharply, “it matters not. Let’s just- focus on the matter at hand, alright?”

The younger male sighs, knowing arguing is useless. They’ll have to revise this conversation sooner or later, but for the moment- he can let go for now.

“It’s not really my decision to make, is it?” Sherlock asks softly, defeatedly. “If the King agrees- whatever I do or say won’t matter at all. Not even John has a say in this decision; it’s- it’s a hopeless situation.”

Mycroft hums thoughtfully. “You could run away.”

Sherlock chuckles humorlessly. “And go where? If Moriarty truly wants my baby- he won’t stop looking for us. And John is really in no state to be going anywhere, we wouldn’t last a week-”

“Resignation doesn’t suit you, brother mine.”

“What else is left?!” the younger male spats angrily. “I’m powerless to stop him!”

“Are you?”

It takes a few seconds for the words to register, but when they do- Sherlock turns to his brother, his eyes wide. “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

“It’s quite desperate, I realize.” Mycroft agrees. “But what other choice do you have?”

“It’s suicidal.”

“So is staying and doing nothing. Do you think you’ll survive them taking your baby away without your consent?” Mycroft argues reasonably.  He looks as worried and hesitant as Sherlock himself feels, but the idea has some merit.

He knows the wizard isn’t bluffing. If they don’t agree to his terms, he’ll raid the Kingdom and will kill them all no doubt and still, he’ll get what he wants. They’re powerless to stop him, he’ll get the baby either way. Except-

Except he’s not completely powerless, is he? He might be, in the sense that politically he has no influence over the monarch’s decisions and he certainly has no military power to back him up; hell, his own clan would turn their back on him if it comes down to it, but-

He has his magic, doesn’t he? And he hasn’t used it in decades and he’s wary of his gift, but he could- he could-

“Sherlock?”

“I need to think,” he murmurs softly, heading towards the door. “I- I need to think.”

“Sherlock!” his brother stops him before he can exit the room. “Just- don’t do something reckless. You know I’ll do what I can to help, please don’t try to do it on your own.”

He’ll have to, though. Because it’s risky and he won’t put anyone else’s life at stake.

If he’s doing this, he’s doing it on his own.

* * *

 

“Have you made a decision, then?” Moriarty asks lazily, barely sparing a glance in his direction, apparently too entertained with the book he’s reading.

“It’s not really my decision to make, is it?” Sherlock questions easily, trying to look as disinterested as the wizard himself. Moriarty smirks, evidently pleased with himself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he argues back, “the King may say whatever he pleases, but if you don’t agree- well, I won’t be getting the baby, will I?” he smiles pleasantly, putting his book away. “You’ll never stop trying to get him back.”

“Will I succeed?”

Moriarty’s smirk widens. “The problem about looking into the future is that you can never tell for sure.” He makes a face, looking slightly annoyed. “It’s always a bit- blurry. _For_ _example,_ when I attacked the werewolves clans a hundred of years ago and then demanded the firstborns of every heir, no matter when they happened to be born- well. I had a plan, you see, but as it turned out, it wasn’t the firstborns I wanted. I actually wanted the youngest son from one of the smallest and weakest packs. Of course, _Mummy_ has done a wonderful job and so you’re no longer the smallest or weakest-”

“What?”

The wizard laughs. “Oh, what did you think happened to your oldest brother? That he hadn’t survived infancy? Well, he didn’t, but not for the reasons you were probably told.”

Sherlock’s blood has run cold, as he’s quickly realizing there’s some long elaborated plan going on. Still, it doesn’t- “Bit of a disappointment, that,” the wizard continues, offering him a cruel smile. “Although that might have been for the best, seeing that as it turned out, you weren't the one I wanted either.” He pouts and Sherlock has to hold back a shiver. “It’d have been a pity to kill you so young,in any case. You’ve been a lot of fun, Sherlock dear.”

“You’ll kill it, then.”

Moriarty smirks once more, amused “Wouldn't you want to know?” he looks quite pleased with himself and Sherlock clenches his jaw, bracing himself for what he's about to do.

“I have a proposition for you,” Sherlock says calmly, almost managing to sound detached.

“Oh?” Moriarty questions, tilting his head curiously. He looks- intrigued but also a bit concerned.

“Let's settle this in the traditional way- a one against one duel.”

Moriarty’s eyes shine with enthusiasm, but he sounds perfectly unperturbed when he speaks, “a duel? Sherlock dear, you're not remotely powerful enough to fight me.”

“Then you have nothing to lose,” the werewolf argues calmly. “It sounds perfectly reasonable to me.”

The wizard hums thoughtfully. “And which would be your conditions?”

Sherlock takes a deep breath, willing himself to carry on with his plan, even if some of the wizard’s revelations from tonight have left him wrongfooted. “If I win, you’ll leave the human kingdoms and my family alone.”

Moriarty rolls his eyes dramatically. “So obvious. I thought you had a little more imagination, my dear.” He chuckles as Sherlock glares, but quickly sobers up. “And if I win?” he questions, eyes flashing. “And don’t say I’ll simply get the baby; you need to sweeten up the deal if you want me to agree.”

Sherlock takes another deep breath. “You'll get me too.”

Moriarty’s eyes shine with pleasure. “Are you sure you want to do that? Oh, the things I’d do to you, princeling-"

“Do we have a deal or not?”

The wizard chuckles darkly. “Eager, are we?” when Sherlock just continues glaring, he laughs one more. “I agree then. And when I win, you and your pup-"

“ _If_ you win,” the werewolf interrupts sharply, prompting more laughter from the other male.

“We both know it's a _when,_ Sherlock dear. But I suppose I’ll let you hang on your delusion that you can defeat me.” His smile is predatory and he looks entirely too happy, which doesn't bode well for the future but-

It's his only option, really.

He’ll have to take the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> See what I meant at the previous chapter? The last part makes a lot of sense in my head, because we know Sherlock does prefer to do things on his own (or at least that’s my impression) even if he trusts John, he’d rather keep him safe that keep him with him. But well, all things considered… I really don’t know if it makes sense.  
> Next chapter I go a bit more in deep on what he’s thinking and what are his plans but I should warn you… it’s going to be very TRF style (or at least that’s what I’m aiming for. You know by now how I love drama!)  
> Anyway… let me know what you thought, pretty please?  
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is a dangerous thing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… here’s a new chapter! It didn’t quite work out as I intended, because I really suck at writing action scenes, so I had to change that a bit, but hopefully it works somewhat…  
> Also, remember the concerns I expressed at the end of chapter 11? Well, this is the chapter where it all comes to fruition and well- I’m not exactly sure it worked out, but it does make sense to me, even if it’s a bit- sad, I guess?  
> Anyway… enjoy?

It's awfully cold this early in the morning, but the freezing wind helps him to clear his head. It's not healthy to be out in the cold without any proper winter wear, but he's not very concerned: it's likely it won't matter soon enough.

He sighs, running a hand over his still flat stomach. He feels a occasionally flutter in there and he guesses that's the baby moving, but he's unwilling to consider that for long: he shouldn't get attached. Of course Moriarty has agreed to the duel, so there's a chance (slim as it might be) that he’ll get to keep it, but just in case...

If he loses, he said the wizard could have his baby and him, but he has no real expectations of being allowed near his child. Even if Moriarty doesn't _dispose_ of him immediately-

His stomach turns unpleasantly and he cuts that thought short. It won't do to start worrying about that just yet; he needs to focus. Thoughts like those will do nothing but distract him.

He can't help the guilt, though. He should have discussed his crazy plan with John beforehand, but a part of him can't help thinking there's really no need for that. In any case, John will be fine since either outcome results in Moriarty stopping this crazy war. And even if Sherlock- well, whatever his fate might be, John can always remarry and have children with his new _wife._

The idea hurts of course, but by the time that happens (if it all comes down to it), Sherlock will be long past caring: he’ll either be dead or too broken to really notice.

The future looks rather gloom, doesn’t it?

But it matters not; the stakes are high, but it’s definitely worth it.

Isn’t it?

 

* * *

 

«Is everything alright?»

Sherlock hums questioningly, not turning to look at his husband, knowing he won’t be able to lie to him to his face. He’s keeping secrets and that isn’t right, but it’s not like he can tell him what’s on his mind: chances are John won’t be happy with his decision.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s his decision to make. It’s not only his life at stake of course, but all things considered, it’s the best option they have: running will get them nowhere and agreeing… that’s just not acceptable.

Better this way: fight and win or die fighting.

«Sherlock,» John grabs him by the chin, forcing him to hold his stare. The werewolf forces himself to keep still and keep his face perfectly devoid of emotion. He arches an eyebrow questioningly and the Prince sighs, letting go of him. «I know there’s something you’re not telling me.»

«What makes you think that?» he questions, hoping his tone doesn’t betray his guilt. He wishes he could tell him what he’s thinking, but he knows that won’t end well. Besides, he’s going to go along with his plan, no matter what.

John sighs once more. «I don’t know; you just- you have this look...» he sighs once more, running his fingers through his hair. «I don’t like it.» He bites his lip gently, looking unsure. «I just- please talk to me?»

Sherlock’s heart is breaking, but he keeps himself together on the outside. «There’s nothing to say, I assure you. Everything is fine or as fine as it can be considering...» he gestures vaguely, finally placing a hand over his abdomen. «It’s all fine.»

John doesn’t say anything else, instead turning to stare at the hand over his stomach. Hesitantly, he places a hand over it, a sad smile on his lips. «We’ll be fine, I promise. No one is taking our baby away.»

The werewolf nods stiffly, agreeing with the sentiment, even if he knows John’s is a rather empty promise.

No matter, he’ll take whatever steps necessary to ensure it’ll be fine.

 

* * *

 

It’s- weird, to use his powers so consciously. He has some flashes of long lost memories of how scary it could be, when he found himself doing something without meaning to. He had gotten himself and others injured often enough for him to be terrified of this force within him that he simply couldn’t control and even now, after so many years-

He needs to focus. He’s scared of losing control, but he’s even more scared of losing this fight. He needs his wits about him if he’s planning to win and to do that he needs to let go of his fears. It can end very nastily, but it’ll be even worse if Moriarty wins.

For the first time in his life he finds himself reaching for his power, willing his magic to manifest at its best, no matter the consequences. Whatever lessons the wizard imparted him are also long forgotten, at least on a conscious level, but it matters not: there’s something intuitive about this and it’ll have to do.

He wishes-

Well. No use on wishing; it is what it is and he’ll have to make it work.

There’s too much at stake for him not to.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up, but something tells him to stay still. It’s a weird sensation for sure, but he has learned to trusts his instincts and so he keeps his eyes closed and his breath even, trying to figure out what woke him up.

Once he figures it out, his heart breaks into a million pieces.

John is talking, but not to him: his lips are closely pressed to Sherlock’s abdomen, his tone gentle and soothing. Sherlock has heard of people doing this and, apparently, it’s a great exercise for bonding with the unborn pup, but to hear John doing it-

God, what is he going to do?

The problem is that Moriarty is right: he _knows_ he can’t win the fight. No matter how desperately he wishes to believe otherwise, this is simply beyond his control. It’s foolish to believe that any amount of training will change it and yet-

What else can he do? If he lets go of his hope… he’ll have nothing left. And anyway, showing up to a fight _thinking_ he’s going to lose will definitely tip the scales against him. He’s hoping he’ll figure something last minute; he has always been better at thinking under pressure. But if he doesn’t-

John presses a kiss against his stomach, before coming to lie down once more, pulling Sherlock into his arms, humming contently against the top of his head and the werewolf fights back the sob threatening to escape him.

God, how did it come down to this?

 

* * *

 

The problem (well, the main problem) is that he’s determined to do this on his own. But then, it’s the only solution that makes sense; while his brother offered to help, there’s very little Mycroft can actually _do._ Moriarty is a powerful, _immortal_ wizard, what are the chances of them figuring out something to defeat him, really?

The duel made sense when he first thought about it, but as the day for it approaches, he finds himself questioning just how wise the whole idea is. It’s entirely likely it won’t end well for him, but he can’t exactly take it back, can he? And besides… he’s not willing to pay Moriarty’s price so really, it’s the only way around it, isn’t it?

He thinks of what the wizard told him the last time they spoke and of his long dead brother. He doesn’t understand why would Mummy lie to them, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter; his mother is made of sterner stuff than himself and while she might have been able to give up one of her pups and carry on as if nothing had happened- well, Sherlock can’t do the same.

There’s a flutter in this abdomen and he bites his lip viciously. He ought not to get attached, but he suspects he already has: if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be trying so desperately to keep it.

John has gotten into another fight with his parents over the issue and while he’d love to reassure him- well, he suspects that won’t end well. His husband most likely won’t approve of his desperate plan and there’s no need to get into a fight with him now; it’ll only distract him further.

So he keeps quiet and tries to convince himself he’s doing the right thing.

Which is getting harder and harder to believe.

 

* * *

 

Nights are the most difficult and that’s a terrible notion. Not so long ago, nights were his favorite part of the day, since it was when he finally got to retire with his husband and simply be with him.

Now however, he finds himself avoiding their bedroom, going as far as contemplating moving back to his own chambers. He won’t do that, because he knows that would spell his guilt for the whole world to see, but it’s just so damn difficult to lie (even if it’s just by omission) and so-

 _Two more days,_ he thinks miserably as he watches John get ready for bed. He smiles when his husband turns to face him and even manages to look perfectly at ease, but deep down he’s burning with anxiety, wanting to say _something, anything_ but-

«Are you sure everything is alright?» John whispers softly, pulling him closer and Sherlock buries his face against his partner’s neck, trying to keep his breath even and fighting back treacherous tears.

«Yes,» he murmurs softly. «I’m just- the full moon is in a couple of days.» It’s the truth and yet it is not, because while Moriarty said he’d be back after the next full moon, the real reason for Sherlock’s nervousness is the duel that’s supposed to take place that night.

«We’ll figure out something,» John promises softly, hugging him tighter. He’s getting better, but Sherlock can tell his injuries still pain him and so he pulls away shortly after. The Prince offers him a sad smile that he returns, willing himself not to show his fear or, even worse, his guilt at the secret he’s keeping.

«We will,» he agrees, running his fingers through the blond’s hair. «Sleep. You need to rest.»

John scoffs. «That’s all I seem to do nowadays,» he complains half jokingly and Sherlock chuckles.

«You need to get better,» the werewolf murmurs, kissing him chastely.

Even if Sherlock is not going to be there to witness it.

 

* * *

 

«I love you,» he says, leaning down to press one last kiss against his husband’s forehead. He has never told him that before, but it seems like the kind of sentiment one ought to express before heading to (most likely) his death.  He runs his fingers through John’s hair and wonders if it’s too late to change his mind.

Another flutter on his abdomen and he sighs, caressing it lightly. This might not be the best of his ideas, but if there’s the chance, no matter how slim, that he’ll get to keep it-

Well, he’s going to take it.

 

* * *

 

 _Dream visiting_ might be slightly different from actual apparition, but the principle seems to be the same and so it doesn’t take much effort to locate the wizard and appear at his location. Moriarty’s back is at him, as the wizard contemplates the waterfall right next to them. Sherlock doesn’t recognize the place, but figures it doesn’t matter much; still, it’s a nice place and under other circumstances, he would take his time to appreciate the view.

Maybe, when this is over-

“Oh, I wouldn’t have much hopes for that,” the other man comments lightly, turning around and smirking amusedly. “Watch your steps, Sherlock darling. The floor is a bit- slippery. I would hate for you to misstep and break that lovely neck of yours.”

The werewolf bites his lip gently, his stomach rolling unpleasantly with nerves. He’s ready, or as ready as he’ll ever be and he just wants to be done with it.

Moriarty chuckles. “Well, I suppose we could get started. In the spirit of playing fair, I'll even allow you to make the first move.” His smile is more than a tad crazed and Sherlock can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. “Not that it’ll matter, of course, but still- feel free to attack whenever you’re ready.”

The wizard is standing far too close to the cliff edge, but as soon as he thinks it, Moriarty smirks and Sherlock knows it won’t work. The older male calmly steps forward, actually watching his steps and so the werewolf supposes there’s some merit on the warning he received.

Why would he pick such location for their duel anyway?

“I was born in a village down this mountain,” Moriarty tells him, as if they were just two people having a regular chat. “It doesn’t exist anymore of course, but well- it seemed like an appropriate place to end this.”

“What do you mean?”

The wizard smirks once more, shrugging lightly. Sherlock frowns, curious despite himself, but quickly shakes those thoughts away. He’s not here for idle chatter; the sooner they’ll start, the sooner it’ll be over.

But-

“Come on, darling. We don’t have all day,” Moriarty tells him after a while. “I have places to be, deals to fulfill.” He starts pacing, actually looking slightly frustrated. “Unless of course, you’ve changed your mind. I admit that would be a bit of a disappointment, but well- I could live with it. After all, all I really want is that child.”

Sherlock considers it for one last time, knowing after the first attack there’ll be no way to turn back. He’s not entirely comfortable with the circumstances, but-

As he expected, Moriarty dodges his attack easily. But, while he might have been expecting it, it doesn’t mean he’s not discouraged by it. The wizard has centuries of experience over him and it’s not really an even match, and yet-

Well. Hope can be a terrible thing.

Moriarty tuts amusedly. “You disappoint me, love. But, just so you see how _nice_ I can be, I’ll give you one last chance: go back home now and hand me the child once it’s born.”

“Over my dead body,” Sherlock utters with conviction and the wizard laughs cruelly.

“Well, if that’s what you want- I’ll be happy to oblige.”

 

* * *

 

He’s not sure what exactly he thought would happen. He had known the odds were against him and that all the practice in the world would make little difference against the wizard’s vast experience. Still, he had held to some silly hope that things would work out, although he’s not sure why he thought such thing.

His whole body hurts, but he suspects he’s not nearly as injured as he would be if this was a regular duel. Moriarty isn’t fighting him; he’s _playing_ with him, as a cat would with a mouse. The real question is how much longer he’ll keep up with this, for there seems to be clear winner to the fight.

“Oh, you just have to say the words, darling! Just say you give up and it’ll be over.”

Admitting defeat- no, he can’t do that. He’s certain now he won’t win, but-

Moriarty rolls his eyes. “You’re just too stubborn for your own sake, little princeling. Just what exactly are you hoping for? A miracle? Because trust me, nothing short from that will help.”

A miracle. Yes, exactly.

Hope is truly a terrible thing.

 

* * *

 

Moriarty observes him dispassionately, looking terribly bored for all intents and purposes. He walks around him calmly, mindful of each step, but knowing by now Sherlock is pretty much incapable of moving.

He’s hurt, but not _deathly hurt._ Moriarty seems unwilling to cause any real damage, maybe because he’s protecting his investment. At this stage, Sherlock might still lose the baby and if he dies…

At least now he knows the wizard isn’t planning on killing the baby or at least not right away, seeing he’s not about to cause it any damage while still in the womb. Not that that’s particularly reassuring, but maybe-

Moriarty continues pacing around him, now looking mostly frustrated and that, Sherlock suspects, is not a good thing. He’s not about to give up just yet, though, every instinct in his body urging him to resist; it’s more than a little suicidal, but-

“This is BORING, Sherlock!” the wizard announces in his sing song voice and that can’t be any good. The werewolf shivers, bracing himself for what’s probably going to be the worse and it’s not exactly surprised when he gets picked up from the ground and held rather painfully by the throat. “Are you giving up?”

“Never,” he hisses darkly and Moriarty makes a face, angry now. Sherlock isn’t sure why his surrender seems so important to him, but he’s not about to simply give into the wizard’s whims. For a beat, they remain perfectly still, simply glaring at each other and then-

Moriarty lets out a curse and drops him. He barely registers the pain of the fall, though, his whole attention on the sight in front of him.

His miracle, as it turns out, is not quite a miracle at all.

Just how did John found him?

 

* * *

 

John is standing a few meters away, looking tired and pained, but determined. The Prince is breathing heavily, but his aim was true, judging by the arrow piercing through Moriarty’s shoulder. The wizard is staring at the bleeding wound as if he can’t believe his eyes, but soon he turns to glare at the Prince, letting out a furious growl. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that, princeling.”

John doesn’t answer, instead taking out another arrow from his pouch. Moriarty growls once more and rises a hand, ready to strike. Sherlock watches, frozen on the spot, his heart beating madly inside his chest.

All the bets are off now and it’s impossible to predict what the wizard might do now: the whole point of this crazy endeavor was to keep John safe, but now that he’s here and that he has gotten the wizard’s attention-

Sherlock reacts on pure instinct, standing up too quickly and making a mad dash for Moriarty, trying to stop him from attacking. But, as the wizard warned, the floor is slippery and they were standing just too close to the edge and-

He hears nothing but the roar of the wind as they fall, along with the sound of the waterfall. He thinks he hears John calling for him, but that might be a trick of the wind. He’s not exactly scared, adrenaline still pumping through his veins and he feels more- relieved than anything else.

At least until he realizes Moriarty is slipping from his grip and he realizes the wizard intends to disappear. He supposes he could do the same; in fact he ought to do that. But all things considered- that might not be particularly wise. As he sees it, Moriarty simply can’t survive this encounter, for there’s no telling what his vengeance might be.

And so he clings to the other man with all his strength, concentrating all his power on keeping the wizard trapped They keep on falling and the wizard keeps on struggling, trying to break free and yelling angrily, but Sherlock simply tightens his grip and keeps his eyes closed.

They hit the water and Sherlock is vaguely aware that the impact should have killed him or at the very least left him unconscious, but there’s really no time to consider it. The water is freezing and he’s not a very good swimmer and-

The darkness swallows him and panic finally overwhelms him. He kicks and screams and tries to breath, but it’s impossible and soon-

Soon he knows not more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
> I would like to bring your attention to the fic’s tags: it says   
>  _  
>  angst with a happy ending  
>  _  
>  . Please keep that in mind and worry not, I swear it’ll end well! But well… I do enjoy writing angst.
> 
>  
> 
> There are just 2 chapters to go! Well, a chapter and an epilogue, or at least that’s what I think! Not that I’m completely sure, for I don’t know if I’ll be able to get this whole mess solved in just one more chapter but well… we’ll see, I guess ;) Although I meant to ask for your opinion on adding a chapter that runs from another character's POV in between this and the resolution, so… thoughts on that?
> 
>  
> 
> I hope the   
>  _  
>  duel   
>  _  
>  wasn’t terribly disappointing. I always intended to write this part (or well, I intended to do it ever since Moriarty was introduced to the story) but I knew that part was going to be difficult. Still- I tried!
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! And any matter you think needs to be addressed… please, let me know!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s yet another chapter! I decided I wanted to write this brief interlude, running from John’s POV. I like it, although I feel it leaves a lot of questions still unanswered and it doesn’t really help to move the plot along (or not that much, anyway) but well… I had planned for this to run completely from Sherlock’s POV so I have an idea of how issues are going to get resolved and to include them here… well. It just wouldn’t do.  
> Anyway… enjoy?

John is fairly certain someone is talking to him, but he can’t bring himself to pay attention. There’s a hole in the place where his heart used to be and it seems to have sucked the life out of him. All he feels is sadness and so he’s blind and deaf to everyone’s concern.

A hand on his shoulder forces him to pay attention, if only briefly. His brother-in-law (or is it ex-brother-in-law?) stands in front of him, looking as defeated as John himself feels.

«I said, I need to leave now,» Mycroft repeats slowly, staring at him in the eye. The Prince nods numbly, not particularly caring. Although it has been somewhat comforting to have someone who really understands the pain he’s feeling, he doesn’t think he’s going to miss the older male terribly.

He thinks his emotional range is pretty exhausted with the lose of his husband.

«Right. Of course,» he says, attempting to think of something else to say, but he keeps coming up blank. In any case, he’s really too exhausted and emotionally drained to care.

Mycroft stares at him for a beat, before sighing sadly. «I’m sorry, John.»

The Prince nods absentmindedly. He understands why the werewolf blames himself for Sherlock’s death, since he was the one who planted the idea of facing Moriarty in the first place, but John believes it’s truly his own fault. If he hadn’t been so injured- if he had arrived earlier-

But all the ifs in the world can’t bring his beloved back.

So, as much as he wishes he could be angry at Mycroft, as much as he wants to place the blame on someone else-

He knows better.

* * *

_A month later_

«It hasn’t even been a month,» John protests softly, too tired to even get angry anymore. He has had a hellish, nearly _insufferable_ month and his terrible injuries have nothing to do with it.

The Queen offers him a sad smile, running her fingers through his hair. «You can’t simply lock yourself in your bedroom forever, darling,» she murmurs gently, her eyes full of pity. «It’s not healthy.»

«I’m grieving, dammit! Why is it so hard to understand that I just want to be left alone? God! Did you bother Sherlock half as much when I was the one who was dead?» he snaps frustratedly and regrets his words almost immediately. He’s not quite ready to face what happened at the Falls and even if he ever wants to discuss his _feelings_ about it, his mother won’t be his first option to talk to.

The female sighs, looking away. «It’s not exactly the same, is it?»

«No, I suppose not,» he agrees darkly. «You must have been too busy trying to figure out how to get rid of him, so I doubt you cared much about his health.»

«John, that’s unfair!» she exclaims, a bit outraged. «We were grieving you! We had just lost our son-»

«Well, so have I, haven’t I?» the Prince demands angrily. «I didn’t just lose my husband; I lost our baby along with him. So don’t you- don’t you dare to presume to know what I need. I- Just leave me alone, why don’t you?»

«John-»

«An honestly, mother. To keep trying to push me into the arms of every marriageable girl in the kingdom is beyond insensitive! I didn’t expect anything less from Father, seeing he has no idea of what love is, but you-!»

«John, we’re just trying-»

«Oh, don’t give that crap. You don’t care one bit about me or what I’m feeling. You just want me to remarry and carry on being the perfect little prince I’ve always been. Well, guess what? I’m not caving in this! You can have Harry marry this time around! She’s supposed to become the Queen, in any case.»

«John-»

«Oh, for god’s sake! Can’t you just leave me alone?!»

His mother looks upset, but John refuses to feel guilty. They’re the ones who won’t stop pestering him, despite knowing he’s not exactly in the best frame of mind. The Queen sighs, standing up and heading towards the door. «We just want what’s best for you, dear» she whispers softly, before closing the door behind her and John sighs, collapsing onto the bed.

 _The best for him._ What does that even mean?

The best thing that ever happened to him is now gone, so really, what’s the use?

* * *

 

Mother at least tries to pretend she cares about his feelings a tiny bit, but Father is frankly insufferable. He had almost organized a banquet after John came back to the Castle, for god’s sake! Of course it was supposed to be to celebrate Moriarty’s defeat, but-

The price to stop the wizard, John thinks, was just too high. Why did Sherlock think, even for a second, that fighting the wizard on his own was a good idea? What did he think would happen, really? He couldn’t have honestly believed he would manage to defeat him, could he?

Didn’t he realize what losing him would do to John? Didn’t he know how much John needed him, how much he loved him?

What the hell was he thinking?

He fears Sherlock was thinking exactly what his parents are thinking now: that John could simply carry on with his life as if nothing had happened. That he could, somehow, move on.

How can he recover from losing the love of his life?

Of course he never told Sherlock that. He hadn’t thought it wise, their relationship being what it was: they had married because they were ordered to, but… they had talked about it, hadn’t they? And maybe- maybe they had never gotten around to actually speaking the words, but- they had an understanding, didn’t they?

Apparently, they didn’t. Or maybe- well, maybe Sherlock was just too concerned about him and didn’t see- didn’t think-

God, but how could he?

His reasons don’t matter anymore, in any case. He’s gone and John is never going to get the chance to ask him why he thought it was a good idea, nor will he ever talk to him again. He’ll never-

He’ll never get to meet their child, either. The child he’s certain Sherlock wanted as badly as he did. The threat of Moriarty is gone and that’s good and he’s glad for it but- but-

He can’t bring himself to believe it was worth it.

* * *

 

_Six months later_

John bids Princess Mary goodnight, after escorting her to one of the guest bedrooms. The female smiles coyly at him, an obvious invitation to follow her in and John forces himself not to snap at her. By far, she has been the best actress out of all the princesses and other nobles his parents have been parading in front of him for the last 6 months. He had honestly thought she understood what he was going through and that she wasn’t expecting anything from him, but now-

Well. He should have known better. «Have a nice evening, your Highness.»

The Princess looks disappointed for a beat, but recovers quickly, politely curtsying before entering the bedroom and closing the door behind her. John sighs, wondering if his parents desperate attempts at matchmaking will ever stop and what he’d do if they don’t.

Can’t they see it’s just too recent? Even if- even if he was inclined to _move on,_ don’t they think that less than six months is a little too early to start even considering courting?

Well, he guesses it’s time for yet another talk.

* * *

 

«You do realize my husband sacrificed himself to keep the Kingdom safe, yes?» John states without preamble as soon as he enters the Throne room. His father turns to glare at him, obviously frustrated by the interruption, especially because he seems to be in the middle of something.

Count Moran arches an eyebrow at John’s sudden and frankly rude interruption, but the Prince isn’t about to apologize for it. Instead, he offers the man a cold smile and while the other male looks a tad put off, he forces a smile too. «Your Highness, your father and I-»

«-have very important matters to discuss» John interrupts calmly. «But I’m afraid this simply can’t wait, my Lord. The King seems very determined to have me remarry before even the _official mourning period_ has passed and I simply won’t stand for that.» He turns to look at his father, his cold smile still firmly in place. «Kindly stop throwing every available female in my direction. It’s- annoying, honestly and frustrating and terribly disrespectful for the reasons I’ve already listed.»

«John-»

«Good evening, father.»

And with that he turns around and leaves the room without looking back, still quite angry, but knowing yelling and arguing and throwing recriminations will do nothing for him.

If anything, it’ll only make him feel worse.

* * *

 

«I would like to apologize for the other night,» Princess Mary tells him gently, placing a hand on his arm in a comforting manner. «It was never my intention to upset you, Your Highness.»

«It’s fine,» John argues, pulling away and while he knows walking out on the female is beyond rude, he’s not in the mood for any of this. He finds his parents matchmaking insensitive, as well as terribly frustrating, but there are days-

There are days when he’s just too tired to care.

How much longer will he feel like this?

He has the slight suspicion the answer is _forever more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> There was another scene here, between John and Mycroft, but it felt- wrong somehow. The thing is a have an idea for a sequel, but I really must reign myself in, because I’m supposed to be working on a very important project and it needs to be done before March so… I really don’t have the time. I ought to go in a bit of a hiatus actually, but to be completely honest, that’s never gonna happen. I love writing and I can’t think of a single reason important enough for me to stop completely ;)  
> That being said- the sequel is a bad idea at this point. So I decided to leave that scene out, for there was a lot of exposition that would work for the sequel, but that would just mess with the current story and well, just in case I don’t ever get around writing that sequel… it’s better this way.  
> As I said, there’s no much going on here, except me indulging in my love for angst and drama. Also, to give a bit of timeline for what happens in the next chapter. I hope it doesn’t end up being terribly confusing and well, I know there are still a few incognitas left unresolved, but I intended for us to find out along with Sherlock so… there’s that.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! It’s quite long, but I couldn’t find another place where it felt organic to end it, so… well. It works. 
> 
>  
> 
> I ended editing it   
>  _  
>  a lot   
>  _  
>  for there were several parts that I figured weren’t truly necessary. As I’ve said before, I have an idea for a sequel, but since I’m not sure I’m writing it, better not to leave this feeling unfinished.
> 
>  
> 
> That being said- enjoy?
> 
>  
> 
>  

«Is he awake?»

«Well, if you stopped hovering over me and let me do my job-»

«Your job? You’re hardly qualified-»

Sherlock’s eyelids flutter open, but the light is too intense and he promptly closes them once more. He can hear the first two voices carry on arguing, but while he’s certain he knows the speakers, he can’t quite place them. His memory feels fuzzy; he has a bit of a headache and his body aches all over, but, for the life of him, he can’t figure out what happened to him or where he might be.

«He’s awake,» a third voice deadpans suddenly, interrupting the first two. The light gets blocked as someone leans down to look at him and Sherlock can finally open his eyes, just to find himself staring at a troubled-looking Molly.

“Oh, thank god it worked.” She murmurs softly, offering him a hesitant smile. “How are you feeling?”

Sherlock blinks at her, confused. He tries to open his mouth to ask what’s going on, but his throat feels dry as the desert and so no sound comes out. Molly makes a face and turns to one of her interlocutors, but before she can say anything, someone has already brought a glass of water to him.

«Thank you,» he murmurs, before drinking greedily from the glass and staring curiously the woman; he has the vague impression he has seen her before, but he’s incapable of saying when or where. She offers him a tight smile, before stepping back.

«Well, now that that’s been taken care of,» the first voice says, getting Sherlock’s attention right away. «How are you feeling?»

Molly is glaring daggers at the female, but Irene remains perfectly unperturbed. She spares a quick smile in the redhead’s direction, before turning her attention back to Sherlock. «Where am I?» he asks, leaving the Princess’ question unanswered, making her pout. «What happened?»

«You fell,» Molly answers hesitantly, eying the other female from the corner of her eye. «You fought Moriarty; you remember that?»

Sherlock tries to remember, but his memory comes up blank. He remembers nothing, but he feels vaguely anxious at Molly’s words. There’s something- something important. He needed- there was something important he needed-

Something moves inside him, startling him. He looks down and finds his stomach has swollen considerably. He places a hand over it and there’s an answering kick right away, which makes him smile.

Ah, yes. This was it, wasn’t it? He fought Moriarty for the chance to keep his baby and John-

Oh god. John.

«Where’s John?»

The females exchange a dark look between them and Sherlock’s heart stops in his chest. No, no, that can’t be right. John can’t be- he must be alright. There’s just no other acceptable outcome.

«He’s fine,» Molly assures him, placing a hand over his arm. «Or as well as he can be considering... well...»

«Considering you’re dead,» Irene interrupts calmly and Molly turns to glare at her once more. Sherlock turns to look at her, dread filling his every pore.

«What?!» he demands and the Princess rolls her eyes.

«Well, I suppose we could have written him a letter letting him know you actually weren’t...» she muses outloud, a slight smirk on her lips. «But then, we didn’t know if you were actually going to wake up.»

«You were badly hurt,» Molly hurries to clarify. «The fall would have been deathly, but luckily Irene managed to make it there before you actually fell and managed to- stop it a little.»

There’s a brief flash of him falling, the wind roaring in his ears and then hitting the water, briefly wondering why the impact hadn’t killed him. «How long has it been?»

«Can’t you deduce it?» the Princess asks sarcastically. «Judging by how big you’re now-»

Yes, he supposes that’s quite telling. He rubs his belly absentmindedly, thinking. «Three-four months, I would say.»

«Six,» Molly corrects gently. «You’re ready to give birth any day now. The baby- well, considering you haven’t been eating properly and that you were recovering from your injuries… they didn’t grow much.»

Sherlock bites his lip, considering. Those can’t be good news, really, but he supposes there are more pressing matters to worry about. «I’m leaving now.»

He assumes he doesn’t need to explain his reasons, but the females seem to think differently, considering they both grab him by the shoulders and push him back onto the bed when he attempts to stand up. «You’re going nowhere,» the Princess states simply, crossing her arms in front of her chest. «You ought not to be traveling in your condition. Once the baby is born-»

«I want to see John,» Sherlock argues darkly, glaring at her. «I’m not staying here. Wherever “here” might be,» he adds, once he realizes he truly has no idea where he might be. He hopes they won’t attempt to actually force him to stay, because the escape might be difficult all things considered.

Princess Irene glares right back. «Well, telling you would be counterproductive, wouldn’t it? It would just give you a better idea of how to escape.»

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest, but Molly interrupts him. «It’s really unadvisable to be traveling in your condition,» she tries to reason. «The wait won’t be long, a couple of weeks at most. And we could send a letter to John, if that makes you feel better.»

The werewolf rolls his eyes, turning to glare at the redhead. «At this point? That would never do. If you had written to him right away-»

«Well, we couldn’t!» Irene argues once more. «What do you imagine would have happened if we had told him you lived and you hadn’t woken up, huh?»

«So you better let him mourn me.»

«Oh, don’t get on your high horse now, _Your Highness_ » the Princess hisses darkly. «You were the one who didn’t tell him where you were going or why. What do you imagine would have happened if you had simply disappeared?»

Sherlock glares, knowing she’s right. Which brings the question- «It was me,» Molly says, before he can voice his question. «I- Well, I can do a little magic myself. Nothing near your level, of course, but a basic tracking spell...» she bites her lip gently, looking terribly guilty. «Prince John was very worried. I couldn’t- I probably shouldn’t have, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the moment.»

«Yeah, you just messed up a prophecy, but really, what’s the harm?» Irene exclaims sarcastically, turning to glare at Molly once more. The girl blushes, biting harder on her lip, but she doesn’t look terribly sorry.

«What?» Sherlock looks between them, by now more than a little confused. His natural curiosity has taken over his worries, so he’s finding the females’ conversation much more interesting with each passing minute.

«What was I supposed to do?» Molly argues back, ignoring Sherlock completely. «Leave him to worry?»

«Well, that’s _his_ problem,» Irene protests, pointing at Sherlock. «You should have sticked to-»

«Oh, don’t give that,» Molly replies darkly. «I wasn’t the one who almost tore the marriage apart, was I?»

«Don’t be dramatic,» the werecat says flippantly, a slight blush covering her cheeks. «I knew it wasn’t going to work. It was- a test, if you will.»

Molly narrows her eyes, obviously not believing her. But before she can say anything, Sherlock decides he has had enough. «Oi! What the hell are you talking about?»

That gathers the women’s attention and they turn to him once more. «Nothing to worry your pretty head about,» Irene replies, waving a hand vaguely. «Not anymore, in any case, thanks to dear Molly here.»

«Hey!»

«But if you must absolutely know-» Irene continues, once Sherlock looks ready to argue. «As you’ve already guessed, it involved your unborn child and Moriarty.»

«I think we got it wrong,» the female who handed Sherlock the water intervenes for the first (second?) time. «The prophecy said, _for the product of true love would be the wizard’s undoing-_ » Irene glares at her and the other female rolls her eyes. «Oh, he should get to know what the prophecy said, since it concerned him.»

«It concerns-»

«Technically, the fight happened because Moriarty wanted to take the baby away from him,» the female argues stubbornly. «So technically, the baby _was_ the wizard undoing. Just not like we thought.»

Irene seems to think about this for a beat, her lips thinning in displeasure. «Kate might have a fair point,» she says after a while, turning to Molly. «It would make some sort of sense. Prophecies have a tendency to find a way around every possible obstacle.»

«Including a very stubborn and narrow-minded King,» Molly points out with a smirk and Irene huffs.

«Particularly around narrow-minded humans,» she says with a good natured chuckle. «Humans, really.» She scrunches her nose a little. «So maybe your mistake wasn’t such a thing, after all.» She adds, offering Molly a small smile that makes her roll her eyes.

«You’ve lost me,» Sherlock informs them very seriously and the females turn to look at him once more, a little startled for they had seemingly forgotten about him. «But I decided I don’t care- prophecies, magic, whatever. I just want to go back home.»

«As I’ve said-»

«Oh, I’ve heard you, _Your Highness,_ » Sherlock interrupts sharply. «But if you think you can keep me here against my will, I invite you to reconsider.»

The werecat turns to look at her companions. Kate shrugs, apparently bored with their conversation now that she has said what she wanted to and Molly bits her lip thoughtfully.

«I guess I could accompany him,» she offers shyly. «It’s not a very long trip.»

Sherlock wonders if he could simply apparate back home. Since that’s how he arrived to his duel with Moriarty, he assumes it’s possible, but-

«Unadvisable,» Irene points out. «Any wayward magic could trigger the birth and I assume that’s not how you want to break the news to your husband.» She makes a face, evidently displeased and then offers Sherlock a sultry smile. «Couldn’t I persuade you to stay? At least for a little while?»

Molly is rolling her eyes and Kate is glaring daggers at Irene, but the werecat’s focus is on Sherlock, her smile gentle and coaxing, her mesmerizing eyes holding his stare. «That’s not going to work this time,» the werewolf argues calmly and the girl leans back, a mighty pout on her lips.

«Suit yourself,» she declares, heading towards the door. «Have a carriage ready for them, would you?» she says, addressing Kate and the female nods once. She turns once more to Sherlock before exiting the room, her gaze a bit sad, but contemplative. «How nice it must be,» she muses outloud, longingly. «To love and be loved like that.»

«There’s a reason why true love is the strongest magic of it all,» Molly points out and there’s a sense of longing in her tone too, which makes Sherlock feel strangely self conscious.

True love. What a _romantic_ notion.

* * *

 

“No one was supposed to know, you see,” Molly tells him, once they start their trip back. Sherlock’s attention is drifting, far too worried about John, but some parts of the girl’s chatter filter through. “That I can do magic, I mean. After all- well, you know how things are for magic users.” She pauses, thoughtful. “That’s why my human mom left us, actually. My other mom- well, I guess she was tempted to get rid of me, but she- her mate had just left her and I was all that was left so-” she gestures vaguely, looking terribly sad. “It wasn’t so bad,” she adds quickly, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Just a bit lonely. With all the hiding we needed to do-”

Sherlock nods, knowing exactly how it is. He was lucky enough Mycroft had been the one who found out and he had eventually found a way to get Sherlock to control his magic, even if his methods hadn’t been- optimal. “And then I met Irene. Of course mom wasn’t happy to leave me with a werecat, even if she’s like- only a quarter werecat, but you know how it is-” Molly continues, waving her hands vaguely. “She’s not actually a magic user herself, but she knows a couple of cool tricks.” She smiles and Sherlock arches an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “It was nice. For the first time in forever, I felt like I really belonged.”

Once more, Sherlock nods, all too familiar with the feeling. “The Norwest Kingdom has been in a sort of war with Moriarty since he first raised to power; the Royal Family has been entrusted with the protection of a large number of magical artifacts and the wizard wanted them, obviously, but he knew it wasn’t exactly wise to provoke them so- all the attacks were pretty low key, nothing like the last one.” Molly makes a face, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I think the prophecy gave him a sense of certainty- something like… if he got a hold of your baby, nothing else could possibly hurt him. And he knew how to play you, of course. Once you saw what could actually happen to John (or anyone really) if you didn’t give into his demands- well.”

Sherlock meditates about this for a while. “What does this prophecy of yours say?”

Molly bites her lip, looking away. “I’m not- We make a vow, you see. We’re not supposed to speak of this with anyone and prophecies-”

“We?”

“Ah- well. I’m not supposed to speak about that either.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. Molly smiles briefly, sheepish. “So- how did Moriarty find out about the prophecy?”

“He didn’t. Well, not exactly. You see, through the years he had accumulated so much power and knowledge that he could- see bits and pieces of the future. He must have seen the Seer and heard part of the prophecy, but not the whole thing so-” she gestures vaguely. “He got it wrong a few times, with the werewolf clans and then with your brother, but- he finally figured it out.”

Sherlock nods, thoughtful. “Is he truly dead, then?”

“We- we don’t know,” Molly says hesitantly. “Irene saw you both fall into the water and- well, that river is supposed to have magic properties that counteract all other magic manifestations, so technically, he should have been left powerless and the impact should have left him unconscious at the very least but- there was no body.”

Sherlock nods once more, slightly worried, but not overly so. “What about me? Am I- Do I still-?”

“Oh, yes. The effects are temporary, although we were not sure how long it would last. You see, the water drains your magic and in someone with your power- well, as Irene explained, we didn’t know for sure if you were going to wake up.” She bites her lip, looking unsure. “We tried- well, as the time for the birth drew nearer, we decided to give you a little extra push. In your condition, it’s not exactly advised to administer any sort of potions, but- well, it wouldn’t have been wise to let you go through labor unconscious. Even if your body reacted as it’s supposed to do- it seemed better that you were awake for that.”

Oh, yeah. Labour. That sounds like a lot of fun. “You said something about a tracking spell? Before, when Irene said you messed up the prophecy?”

“Oh, that.” Molly sits up a bit straighter, looking oddly self conscious. “Tracking spells are very simple to do, if you got the right ingredients. We just needed a lock of your hair, which Prince John happily provided, but to get him to apparate wherever you were- well, that was a bit trickier. With my level of magic, I would have never managed to make it work, but thanks to the enchanted locket you gave him… well, there was enough residual magic in it. I just needed to… re-shape the spell a little.”

“How did John know you could- that is-”

“Oh, well, as I was saying… nobody was supposed to know. But I’m not exactly- sometimes my magic gets triggered, when I’m upset or nervous. Which, as you can imagine, tends to happen a lot around people; just small things, mind you. But Prince John is- more observant than your average human and he eventually figured it out. He never- he never actually mentioned it, but when you started behaving _all weirdly_ (his words, not mine), he asked me if I could help.” She stares at him with big wide innocent eyes, willing him to understand. Sherlock simply arches an eyebrow and so the girl smiles hesitantly. “It didn’t seem right to say no.”

Sherlock nods, not particularly caring about the whole ordeal. Molly did what she thought best and he understands her reasoning; he even agrees with it. Even if, apparently, it went against whatever previous instructions she had received, he approves of her actions wholeheartedly.

Well. To an extent. Because John was not supposed to be at the Falls; Sherlock was supposed to _handle things on his own_. Of course, had his husband not showed up, there’s no telling what would have happened, but-

“Thank you,” he says finally, figuring the female could use some reassurance. Molly’s smile is bright as the sun and she nods once, before turning to stare outside the carriage, lost in her thoughts.

Sherlock sighs, leaning back on his seat. He’s tired, to be completely honest, and there’s still a long way to go. Some sleep wouldn’t go amiss, he supposes.

And with that, he allows himself to fall asleep.

* * *

 

Someone is shaking him by the shoulders hesitantly. Sherlock cracks an eye open, his eyelids feeling heavy. It takes him awhile, but he finally realizes the carriage has stopped and Molly is looking at him expectantly.

It’s been 2 days since they left the Kingdom of Adler and they’re finally home.

His heart starts beating erratically, his anxiety getting the better of him. Molly places a hand over his arm in a comforting manner, offering him a kind smile. “We’re here,” she says unnecessarily and Sherlock finds himself nodding. The female smiles once more, before opening the door and slipping outside, waiting for him to follow.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and attempts to convince his legs to work. It’s true that he was eager to head back home, but now that he’s here… he’s not certain what to think. John might- he might not want to see him. It seems a bit far fetched, of course, but there’s a voice inside his head that keeps reminding him of just how _unlovable_ he is and just why does he think John would still be waiting for him?

He takes another deep breath and forces himself to exit the carriage. They’re on the outskirts of the town, since they don’t want to drag any unnecessary attention. They’re supposed to slip back into the Castle unnoticed and then-

Well, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do then.

Is this a bad idea? Probably. Maybe- maybe he should have sent a letter first. That way he would have an idea of what’s waiting for him inside the Castle. He looks at Molly and the redhead offers him a tight smile. “Let’s go,” she urges him, grabbing him by the arm. “The sooner we get started- the sooner it’ll be over.”

Well. That’s one way to see it, he guesses.

* * *

 

Sneaking into the Castle is surprisingly simple, although, in all fairness, the invisibility spell Molly manages to cast just before they actually attempt to enter helps a lot. It doesn’t last long, but it gives them enough time to get into the Royal wing.

The sound of someone coming their way makes them dodge for cover, even if Sherlock feels a bit ridiculous. This is, technically, his home. He should be able to walk around the Castle’s halls without a worry but well… all things considered…

Some caution might be advisable.

Or at least that’s what he thinks until he sees who has just come around the corner. He has no idea who the blond clinging to John’s arm is, but he most definitely doesn’t like it. He’s half tempted to reveal himself in some form of dramatic fashion and demand an explanation, but Molly’s hand on his shoulder makes him reconsider. He really has no right to cause a scene, does he? He was, after all, the one who left without telling John and while it wasn’t his fault his husband wasn’t alerted of his continued survival-

Well, he has no right to expect anything, does he?

* * *

 

Luckily, John and his companion leave the Royal wing without entering any of the rooms there, which makes Sherlock’s heart feel slightly lighter. Of course it’s a little early, so even if John is sleeping with the female, it might not be the best moment for such dalliances. His heart clenches at the thought and he considers fleeing right now, but in the end, he decides to stay.

He needs to know for certain. If he’s not wanted anymore- well, he’ll leave then. It won’t be easy, of course and he’s not completely certain his poor heart can take it, but then, he has a child to think of. If only for his baby, he supposes he’ll continue existing.

He slides back into what used to be their bedroom and looks around, looking for any changes. There’s nothing that suggest John has taken a new bedmate, but maybe-

“Stop it,” Molly hisses, pinching his arm lightly. “If you’re doing this, you need to stop overthinking.”

Sherlock nods tightly, finding there’s a lump in his throat that prevents him from speaking. Molly looks at him sadly, but offers him one quick hug, that means to be comforting, even if it doesn’t quite work out like that.

And then she’s gone, leaving a deeply troubled and more than a tad scared Sherlock behind.

God, what now?

There’s nothing to do but wait.

* * *

 

He doesn’t intend to fall asleep, but his body is being treacherous and so he succumbs to sleep without meaning to. He gets woken up by the sound of something hitting the floor rather loudly and so he sits up quickly, suddenly wide awake, his heart beating madly.

John is standing at the room’s entrance. In his attempt to stay upright, he grabbed for his desk, but he managed to knock down every single item over it. Not that he has noticed, his whole focus on the man lying on his bed.

Sherlock watches him in silence, unsure of what he ought to do now. He slips out of the bed slowly, watching John the whole time, fearing his reaction. His husband’s eyes drop to his swollen abdomen and then he promptly looks up, catching Sherlock’s eye.

For a beat, neither moves. The air seems still, the tension in the room impossibly high. Sherlock feels like he’s drowning and he aches to do something to ease the tension, but he doesn’t know what.

Then John falls onto his knees, hiding his face behind his palms and Sherlock is at his side in a flash, aching to touch him and yet unwilling to, not knowing if his touch is welcomed.

«It’s really you,» John whispers after what feels like an eternity. He grabs Sherlock by his shirt and the werewolf tenses, nervous despite himself. He wants to lean into John’s touch, but these are still uncertain waters and he’s not sure what’s expected of him.

John is kissing him a second later and so he throws his arms around his husband’s neck, all his previous anxieties seemingly unfounded now. John kisses him passionately, yes, but also roughly, pulling him close, as if he never wants for them to be apart.

Not that Sherlock has anything against that idea.

He finds himself lying flat on his back, the cold floor uncomfortable for his spine, but his mind too numbed with pleasure for him to care. John is straddling him, still kissing him like there’s no tomorrow and Sherlock finds his body responding eagerly. It’s been far too long since they’ve done this, far too long-

The baby kicks, breaking the spell. John pulls away immediately, ignoring Sherlock’s whimper, his eyes fixed on the baby bump. Sherlock sits up then, biting his lip gently, once more nervous, unsure of where they’re standing.

«You- What- How- When did you get back?» John settles for asking, standing up abruptly and turning away from Sherlock. The werewolf feels another whimper attempting to escape him, but he manages to control himself.

«A few hours ago,» he answers, standing up to, wanting to reach for John, but holding himself back. «I- I figured a discreet reappearance would be for the best. In case- in case you didn’t want me back, that is.»

John lets out a humorless chuckle that makes Sherlock’s skin crawl. «Where have you been?»

«John-»

«Because I- I _saw you fall._ And then I- I’ve been mourning you for a little over 6 months and now you simply come back-!» his voice has been raising progressively and he’s near hysterics by now, so Sherlock keeps his head down, his guilt threatening to drown him.

«It wasn’t my intention-»

«Why?!» John demands, turning to him once more and grabbing him by the shoulders. «Just answer me that Sherlock, why?!»

«I was unconscious!» he exclaims, his desperation clear in his tone. «It’s a long story, but I-»

«That’s not what I meant,» John argues darkly. «Well, not just that,» he corrects, looking away. «Why did you decide to go against Moriarty on your own?»

Oh. That. «To keep our baby safe, obviously.»

John glares at him: anger, frustration and a deep _sadness_ reflecting in his eyes. «It wasn’t just that.»

Sherlock sighs, figuring he might as well tell the whole truth now. «No, not only that. But you already know why else I did it, so what’s the point of stating the obvious?»

John turns away, kicking the desk and startling Sherlock. «Didn’t you stop to think what would happen if you died? Didn’t you- didn’t you think of me? Of what losing you would do to me?»

Sherlock bites his lip viciously, willing himself not to cry. «You would have eventually moved on.»

This second kick is stronger and the desk falls down. Sherlock retreats back to the bed, scared now. «Why does everyone keeps saying that?!» John demands angrily, pulling at his hair. «How could you believe that?»

«John-»

«Would you have?» he asks, upset. «If I had died at the battle- would you have moved on?»

Sherlock’s eyes harden and he looks away, refusing to meet John’s desperate look. «That’s not the same thing.»

«Why not?!»

«Because-!» Sherlock forces himself to take a deep breath, his tears preventing him from speaking. «Because you’re you! You would have found someone else eventually! Someone who- who could love you even better than I could-»

«Sherlock-»

«Because I’m _unlovable_ and _unworthy,_ because you could do so much better, but me- for me there could never be someone else. No one would ever- if I lost you John, I would lose myself. I was so alone before I met you and I don’t- I could never go back to that.»

There’s a tense silence after that and Sherlock finds himself sitting down on the bed, hugging his knees close to his chest. He’s sobbing loudly and he aches for some comfort, even if he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

«Didn’t it occur you that the feeling is mutual?» The bed dips with John’s weight, as the Prince comes to sit next to him. «Didn’t it occur you I would be just as lost without you?»

Sherlock snorts and John gathers him in his arms, pressing a quick kiss against the top of his head. For the longest time they remain like that, simply breathing each other in and calming themselves.

«I’m sorry,» Sherlock whispers finally, drying off his tears. He’s thinking of Irene’s words, about how John would have never known what had happened to him if he had simply never came back, thinking of how unfair that was. «I should have told you what I was planning.»

John hums, hugging him closer. «You should. But then, I most definitely wouldn’t have let you go along with it.» He kisses his forehead gently, running his fingers through his curls. «And Moriarty would still be a threat.»

He might still be, but Sherlock figures now is not the time to bring that up. «Who’s the girl I saw you with?»

John tenses at that, pulling away a little and making Sherlock’s heart clench once more. His husband stares at him for a beat, before shaking his head sadly. «My parents were quite- intent of having me remarry.»

«I imagined as much,» Sherlock says dispassionately, with a small shrug. «I just didn’t think you would go along with it.»

«I didn’t,» John utters confidently, cradling Sherlock’s face between his hands. «I told them I had no interest in remarrying, that I was mourning and wanted to be left alone but- they didn’t listen.» He sighs, running his fingers through his own hair, messing it up. «I’ve been merely polite to Princess Mary, but she seems quite set on- well.»

Sherlock smiles sadly. «I understand. I would be to, I guess.» John rolls his eyes fondly and Sherlock lets out a small chuckle. «Unfortunately for her, you’re already taken.»

John nods solemnly, kissing him on the lips this time, even if it’s quite chastely. «I love you. I know I hadn’t said it before-»

«I love you too,» Sherlock interrupts him. «And I promise nothing is making me leave your side ever again,» he vows solemnly.

It’s a promise he’ll try to keep.

Only time will tell if he manages.

* * *

 

«We need to leave the bedroom at some point,» Sherlock says very seriously, once the sweetest part of their reunion is over. John groans and the werewolf chuckles, rolling onto his side so he’s facing his husband. «We need to let your parents know they weren’t quite as lucky and that I’m still alive.»

John’s eyes harden at that, but he doesn’t comment. Sherlock offers him a self depreciating smile, not particularly caring for his in-laws opinion, but still slightly upset. However, all that matters is what John feels and wants and since he apparently still wants him in his life-

«How much longer, do you think?» John questions, his hand caressing Sherlock’s belly lovingly.

«Not long now,» the werewolf says. «Or at least that’s what Irene said.»

«Irene? As in Princess Irene of Adler?»

Oh. Right. He hasn’t told him the whole story, has he? «I should probably tell you the whole story now. Or the part that I know, I guess.» He offers his husband a winning smile that John ignores, narrowing his eyes at him.

Sherlock sighs.

He ought to get started, then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?
> 
>  
> 
> There was a place where I could have ended this chapter soon, but it felt a bit over the top. Originally, Sherlock was meant to go back into the Castle a few days before a wedding was supposed to take place. It wasn’t John’s, obviously, but then, Sherlock didn’t know that. So I could have ended the chapter after Sherlock sees John with Mary, but it felt like   
>  _  
>  angst for angst sake  
>  _  
>  and well… It seemed unnecessary.
> 
>  
> 
> If you’re wondering who was marrying- that’s a matter for the sequel. If it ever gets written ;)
> 
>  
> 
> I’m a little concerned that Sherlock’s conversation with Molly feels a bit like an  
>  _  
>  info dump  
>  _  
>  . We were meant to know more of Molly’s backstory by this point of the fic, but that never quite worked out… the same for Irene, who was supposed to make a longer appearance before this but well… as usual, my ideas run away from me. I tried to wave it in dialogue as best as I could, but I’m not completely certain I succeeded. Also, I’m not sure if it feels like out of nowhere.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway… just one more chapter to go! Stay tuned! ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought!! And if there’s something you feel is missing… let me know too!
> 
>  
> 
>  


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… here we are. The final chapter! I’m bad at fluff, so I struggled like crazy with this, but I managed eventually. I’m not sure it’s completely fluffy and the beginning is a bit dramatic and I feel something is missing, but I have no idea of what ;)  
> Anyway, enjoy?

The room is bathed in moonlight, too dark to see anything clearly. Sherlock groans, attempting to sit up and promptly abandons the idea, his whole body aching unpleasantly. He wonders if he ended up as battered in the aftermath of his duel with Moriarty and wonders if some magic to minimize the pain would be advisable.

In the end, he decides against it. He hasn’t used his magic in what feels like centuries and now is probably not the time to try. Besides, childbirth is something perfectly natural and people have been doing it for centuries without any sort of magical help, so he ought to be able to endure.

A wave of nausea promptly makes him reconsider the idea.

He lets out another groan, feeling sick. He wants to vomit, but his stomach has been empty since yesterday and so naturally nothing comes up when he heaves. The urge doesn’t subside though and he moans miserably, rolling onto his side.

Distantly, he’s aware of the door opening, but he continues lying on his pitiful position, making soft whimpering noises, uncaring of who might see him and what they might think.

«Oh, love,» John whispers softly, coming to sit on the bed behind him and gathering him in his arms. He runs his fingers through his curls, whispering soft nonsense, the kind rumble of his voice lulling Sherlock back to sleep.

It won’t be long until the pain wakes him up again, but for now, it’ll do.

* * *

 

He can’t tell exactly tell how much time has passed when he wakes up again, but he doesn’t feel quite as miserable. He looks around, feeling tired but better than he has lately.

The events of the actual childbirth are fuzzy at best, distant as if it had happened to someone else. He had been in labor for over 14 hours, his anxiety growing with each hour that passed, despite the midwives’ assurances. John had been just as worried, not leaving his side once, holding his hand the whole time.

The pain had become unbearable at some point and he thinks he fainted, but he can’t have been out for long. He remembers being ordered to push and remembers thinking there was simply no way he was going to survive it and then-

A soft cry that was more than a whimper and before he could get a good look at his child, it had been taken away.

He panicked then, or so he thinks and in his fatigued state, he must have passed out again. When he woke up, he had been alone and in pain, like he had received a rather terrible beating (and he would know about that). He had drift in and out of consciousness several times, so he isn’t completely certain of how much time has passed or what exactly happened, but he figures it must have been at least a couple of days, judging by the sunlight streaming through the thick curtains and the pile of empty plates on the night table.

The door opens once more and his husband slides in. John hasn’t noticed he’s up, busy as he is fussing over the small bundle in his arms. Sherlock’s heart skips a beat, a smile making its way onto his lips. He has yet to hold his baby and now- «John», he whispers softly and the Prince looks up, looking a tad surprised, but he immediately beams at him.

«You’re awake,» John says, almost reverently, hurrying to his side. He looks mostly relieved and probably more tired than Sherlock himself is. «Oh, you’re awake,» he repeats, pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s. «Thank god you’re alright.»

Sherlock frowns, a bit confused. He had assumed the birth had simply been hard on him and considering his previous injuries, it was taking him longer to be completely alright, but John’s words suggest-

«What happened?»

John shakes his head and that’s when Sherlock realizes there’s some moisture in the corners of his eyes. The werewolf lets out a soft whine, now most definitely worried and John places a kiss against his cheek. «I thought I was going to lose you both,» he murmurs brokenly, «you were just so-» he shakes his head once more, incapable of finishing the thought. «And our daughter- she was- she’s- after everything, I just couldn’t- you had just came back to me and to think of losing you  _ again- _ » his voice breaks then and Sherlock’s heart clenches painfully inside his chest. He wasn’t aware the situation became so dire, but-

Well, he kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Of course he didn’t realize just how bad things were.

«I’m sorry,» he whispers, pressing a kiss of his own against the top of John’s head and the Prince chuckles.

«It’s not like you did it on purpose,» he murmurs quietly. «But I’m glad it’s over.»

Sherlock nods, unsure of what he ought to do or say. Thankfully he gets spared of having to add something else by a soft whimper coming out from the bundle in John’s arms. His husband looks startled for a beat, before he chuckles softly. «Oh, I’m sorry love. I got a little overemotional,» he tells the baby and Sherlock can’t help his fond smile. «Just- umm- do you- do you want to hold her?»

Sherlock nods hesitantly, wondering if he actually can. He might no longer be in intense pain, but his whole body feels like jelly and so he’s not completely certain he’ll manage to hold his daughter’s weight.

John seems to notice and so helps him to hold her, making sure he won’t drop her. Sherlock peers at the small child, his eyes sweeping over her quickly, looking for anything that be wrong. She seems perfectly fine though, a healthy baby if perhaps a tad small.

“Hello there,” he whispers softly, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. After everything- it’s true all he did before was to ensure this day would come, but for it to finally arrive…

It’s a little overwhelming, honestly. 

The baby gurgles, her eyes peering at him. As far as he knows, eyesight is not very developed at this stage, but her sense of smell should be as keen as his own. Although perhaps not, considering she’s just half werewolf.

«She’s going to need a name,» John points out. «And I refuse to use any of your mother’s suggestions, just so you know,» he adds pointedly and Sherlock chuckles amusedly.

«I think it’s my mother’s way to make up for her own  _ pedestrian _ name.»

John hums. «We’re still not using them.»

Sherlock laughs. «Alright then. Do you have any ideas you’re particularly fond of?»

John stares at him for a beat, not saying a word. Sherlock arches an eyebrow questioningly and his husband leans in for a kiss, which he has no trouble returning. He’s worried they might hurt their baby though and so he doesn’t linger much. «I do have an idea,» John tells him, running his fingers through his curls. «I’m just worried you’ll find it… sentimental.»

Sherlock simply continues staring, slightly amused by his husband hesitancy. Finally, the Prince snorts loudly, rolling his eyes. «I was thinking… Hope.»

It is, perhaps, a tad sentimental, but Sherlock does like the idea. He smiles once more, pressing a quick kiss against his partner’s lips, making him smile. «Fitting,» he comments, carefully rearranging his daughter in his arms. «Very fitting.»

He can’t see it, but he can feel John’s smile against the back of his head.

Things are finally looking up.

* * *

 

As expected, his in laws hadn’t been particularly thrilled with his return, but it’s not like he or John cared particularly for their opinion. Still, there had been a change in they way they behaved, at least in his face; his father-in-law now treated him with reluctant respect. He had, after all, in a fashion, sacrificed himself for the sake of the Kingdom.

Not that he had done it exactly for the Kingdom, but the fact remained: thanks to him, they are free from the treat of Moriarty.

They’re not however, by any stretch of the imagination, in good terms, but based on what John has told him, they’re quite besotted with Hope. He finds that a little hard to believe, considering they were all too willing to handle her to Moriarty, but then, he supposes the circumstances were quite pressing. He understands their reasons, of course, but it doesn’t mean he has forgotten or forgiven them.

So he believes he’s entitled to feel a bit anxious whenever his husband takes their daughter away. John insists he needs to rest and for that it’s better if their daughter isn’t in the room, but Sherlock isn’t exactly pleased with the idea. Thankfully, his own parents are currently also staying in the Castle and so he keeps reassuring himself his baby is being watched over.

Still, whenever his daughter is returned to him, he can’t help to hold her a little more tightly and check her all over for something that might be wrong.

“Father thinks that you should know that if you have any more children, it’s entirely likely childbirth will be even more difficult,” Mycroft points out gently, breaking him out of his silent reverie. “So I would advise you against it.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I was gravely injured. I don’t think-”

“Father has a track record of complicated pregnancies,” his brother interrupts smoothly. “I do believe one child should be your limit, Sherlock.”

The younger male rolls his eyes once more, but doesn’ comment. To be honest, right now he can even begin to consider having any more children, but in the future- well, there’s no telling what might happen in the future.

“At least there’ll be no mad wizard after them, though,” he murmurs to himself, carefully tracing his daughter’s nose with his finger. He regrets his words almost immediately and refuses to look up, knowing his brother’s gaze will be filled with guilt and, even worse,  _ pity. _

He traces his daughter’s lips, his heart filled with emotion. She’s a perfect mixture of both John’s and his features and he thinks she’s the most beautiful baby in the world, although he might be a little biased.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft whispers finally, coming to sit next to him on the bed. “I shouldn’t have-”

“You had no way of knowing I would embark on such a reckless mission,” Sherlock interrupts him, still not looking at him. “Even if you hadn’t planted the idea in my head, I would have eventually came up with it.”

Mycroft doesn’t reply and Sherlock risks a quick glance in his direction. His brother looks troubled and upset, but Sherlock knows there’s really nothing he can say that will make him feel less guilty so he chooses not to add anything on the matter. “Do you think he’s really gone?” the older male asks after what feels like a lifetime and Sherlock unconsciously clutches his daughter closer.

“I don’t know what to think,” he replies in all honesty. “But if he- if he was alive, he would have already made his move, don’t you think?”

“Unless he was too weak,” Mycroft says darkly. “I’m not trying to worry you, little brother. I simply believe we should keep our eyes wide open. It wouldn’t do to be caught unprepared.”

Sherlock nods, his brother’s words ringing true.

It wouldn’t do to grow complacent.

* * *

 

John has quite a besotted look as he watches Sherlock nursing their baby, but the werewolf doesn’t comment, knowing his husband will grow embarrassed if he points it out. If he’s honest with himself, he must admit he does enjoy having John’s undivided attention and it’s always good to be reminded one is loved.

It’s almost impossible to believe it’s just been 2 years since they met, for it certainly feels like a lifetime ago. Many things have happened since then, of course, and so it’s easy to lose track of the time, but all in all, he’s quite grateful for everything that has come to pass. Certainly there were dark periods and perhaps he could have done without maniac wizards threatening everything he loves, but, in a sense, where they are right now is product of everything they have faced and that, Sherlock thinks, makes it most definitely worth it.

So even if the road hasn’t been smooth and perhaps it’ll grow difficult once more in the future, the fact remains: he married believing happiness wasn’t really within the realms of possibility and he has been proved wrong. He had hoped for sure, but hope- hope is a marvelous, but flimsy thing and many will tell you it’s foolish to have it.

He looks down at his daughter in his arms, his little Hope and while the name is truly sentimental, he can’t help thinking that’s exactly what delivered him where he is: the hope of a better life.

It was a long shot, but his hope did pay off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, that ending is just so… so… sappy! God, I can’t believe I just wrote that!
> 
> Anyway… thoughts anyone? I always struggle with happy endings and fluff is most definitely not my thing but well… I tried. It feels a little overly  _ mushy _ , I think, but deep down (very very deep down), I’m a romantic and I love happy, if slightly corny endings.
> 
> So, as I’ve said before, there might be a sequel, but I can’t promise anything. Since I was stuck with this ending, I started working on the companion piece I once said I was going to write for “Unexpected” and it of course gave me a lot of Mystrade feelings, which made me want to write the bit of Mystrade plot I had to let go in here as a companion piece. I really shouldn’t as I really  _ really _ need to start working on my school project but I’m so weak willed!
> 
> Also, I really should finish “healing wounds”. It’s only missing an epilogue, but, as with this fic, I’m stuck with writing the promised happy ending.
> 
> I should probably stop babbling here and just get down to work. But well… I can’t help myself.
> 
> Just  **a last note** : a million thanks for reading, and for the kudos and the comments! It’s always a joy for me to write something people enjoy and this fic was filled with self indulgences since it fused together a lot of my favorite themes, so it was really lovely to get to share it with you. Thank every one of you for reading this far and putting up with my rather erratic posting habits, not to mention my often senseless ramblings!
> 
> Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out! Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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